


Galileo

by 13ways



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, American-Louis, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Artist Harry, Banter, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, British-American Harry, Constellations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Edging, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Football Captain Louis, Football | Soccer, French Fries, Homecoming Dance, M/M, Masturbation, MoMA, Museums, RBB, Rimming, SBB, Sculptures, Slow Burn, Smut, Stargazing, Swimming, avocado mash, italian art, tuscany, virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 63,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10480794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13ways/pseuds/13ways
Summary: “Dangerous? Not haute?” Harry mused. “Why not haute?”“‘Course you're haute, babe,” Louis smiled. He reached out to fix a stray curl that had dropped down onto Harry’s forehead. Harry stared at him with a dimpled smile, and Louis reared his head back to laugh. Harry craned his head back in parallel with Louis’s, watching him. He couldn't peel his eyes away. Louis Tomlinson laughing was the most beautiful thing in the world.“You're a whole other level of charming, you know that?” Louis said. Harry leaned forward to kiss Louis. They both closed their eyes, savoring the moment. It was a kiss that should have happened ages ago.Louis was captain of the state championship high school soccer team. Harry was that gorgeous, scarf-wearing, long-limbed British kid in his art class. They weren't supposed to be friends.But somewhere along the line, Louis Tomlinson opened the locked mystery that was Harry Styles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A high school AU, about the strength of unspoken memories deep in us, the beauty of perspective, the spirit of second chances.
> 
> Finally got a playlist up! You can check it out here. The songs are relevant to the story. I hope you check it out.  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/salad_in_the_wind/playlist/0Vripk8yQiphWwdCwxVMTf
> 
> All scenes, dialogue, characters and situations are mine. None of it is real. Please go not copy, reprint, or translate without permission. 
> 
> I am at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/13ways-of-looking on tumblr. Thanks.

“What do you think, Nialler?” Louis whispered under his breath.

Niall bit his bottom lip and tilted his head toward Louis. They turned to exchange glances.

They were checking out the three remaining boys. Two of them, Stan Atkinson and Jimmy Selley, were staring glumly at the ground, nervously shifting their feet, glancing up at the two groups of boys who had already been sorted. The other boys were dribbling, drilling the soccer balls back and forth, chatting loudly and laughing.

Neither Louis nor Niall knew the last kid. He must be new to the school. He was awkwardly gangly—although not tall exactly— just moving like a puppet adjusting to new limbs. His face was obscured by a jumble of curls, held down by a gray heather beanie, the ends flustered by the wind. Despite being one of the last boys left, he wasn't paying attention to Louis or the other captain at all.

_Who is this dude?_ Louis thought. _Who wears a beanie to soccer practice?_

The kid threw a ball into the air and attempted to head it. The ball landed squarely on his face. He doubled over and rubbed his face in pain.

“Not that one,” Niall said in a loud whisper.

“No kidding,” answered Louis, with a curt laugh. Louis had been playing soccer since he was five. He was captain of the school team. He could see a player who needed carrying a mile away.

He turned toward the other captain, Nick. “We’ll take Stan.”

“Jimmy,” Nick barked without hesitation.

Stan and Jimmy shuffled to their respective sides, happy not to be the last person picked. Someone on Louis’ team high-fived Stan with both hands. Stan ran into the huddle and kicked a free soccer ball.

“Crap,” Louis whispered to Niall. “We’re stuck with Wonderwall over there.”

The boy hadn’t seemed to notice the team selection process was over. He was still rubbing his eyes.

Niall called out to him, “Excuse me!—yeah, you, dude. You’re on our team.”

“I am?” He turned in surprise. He began to amble toward them. “Cool.”

Was that a hint of a British accent?

“I'm Louis, and this is Niall.” Louis waved his hand. “What's your name?”

“I'm Harry,” he said. “Harry Styles.” His voice was high, raspy, and laced with unnecessary happiness. His eyes captured the intense green of the pitch. “Ready to play some football?”

He was British. Louis internally rolled his eyes.

It was already horrible that people of varying athletic abilities were lumped together in seventh grade phys ed class. Louis loved soccer, and he loved playing with friends like Niall, who knew soccer. They had been playing together on the travel team for three years now, where Louis was also captain.

He had promised his coach to be on best behavior, but he was sure that this Harry Styles, whoever he was, was a menace. Harry was going to be such a disaster, so inept, Louis thought, that he would end up hurting Louis more than he hurt himself.

Well.

He wasn't wrong.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Leeds was standing in front of the screen, directing attention to it. The students of the Industrial Design and Visual Arts class turned their heads toward the images on the screen.

“It's important to learn how to draw things to scale,” Mr. Leeds was saying. “Even today.”

“Mr. Leeds,” Stan had his hand up.

“Yes, Stan?”

“We’ve all got computers now. Why do we have to learn how to scale things up and down by hand? I mean, this is industrial arts. Isn't everything done on machines?”

“Ah!” Mr. Leeds flipped to the next image. The students snickered at the image of the _Venus de Milo_ statue. After a pause, Mr. Leeds flicked the remote again, to the _Mona Lisa_.

The class was made up of eleven guys and three girls. Most were interested in the class as a fulfillment to the high school fine arts requirement, and most were juniors or seniors. Mr. Leeds was known to be an easy grader. Besides, people did fun stuff in this class, like design billboards and ads for magazines, make pinhole cameras, play with actual film.

The next image had the boys cackling raucously and the girls shaking their heads at the boys’ immaturity. It was a photo of Michelangelo’s statue of _David_ , from the Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence.

“I’ve shown you works in different degrees of scale,” Mr. Leeds said. “They all look pretty good, don't they? Like they have the right human proportions?”

“This one looks kind of small in some parts!” someone shouted out. The class giggled.

Mr. Leeds looked toward the student.

“In fact,” he said, “ _David_ , by the artist Michelangelo, is scaled disproportionally.” They whooped in laughter. “Yeah, okay guys, settle down. Can someone tell me what seems off?”

“His package,” someone whispered.

“The old wand and ‘nads,” someone added.

“You mean the cocktail weenie and meatballs?” The class went into hysterics. People slapped their desks and high-fived each other.

“Come on, people. Really look,” Mr. Leeds redirected them.

They settled down and leaned in. Some squinted.

“He’s got gigantic hands,” someone finally volunteered.

“Jands!” another person shouted.

“Correct,” Mr. Leeds answered. “They’re anatomically accurate, but bigger than proportional hands. And _David’s_ head—do you see how it's bigger, too? Besides the obvious beauty of the model, the hugeness of the head and hands was one of the first things Michelangelo’s critics noticed about the statue.” He paused. “Why do you think that is?”

They shuffled, looking to each other to see who would make the first guess. No one wanted to talk first. Some whispered and laughed amongst themselves, a naughty bark breaking out here and there. Mr. Leeds waited patiently.

“The stone,” a girl named Julie said, finally. “In his left hand.”

“Yes, Julie?” Mr. Leeds said. “Go on.”

“I mean,” Julie shrank back as all heads turned toward her. “You know, the story from the Bible. It’s David and Goliath, isn't it? David’s holding the stone that kills Goliath. That's why his hands and head are so huge.”

“Great job!” Mr. Leeds smiled. “That is, in fact, what many scholars think. You know the game, _one of these things is not like the others?_ Well, this _David_ is not like any other. Most other sculptors before Michelangelo had shown him as the victorious giant-slayer, with Goliath at his feet.”

He looked around the classroom. The students were now drinking in his words, completely silent.

“Here, Michelangelo shows David at the instant before the attack. His head’s turned toward his enemy. His arm is raised, ready to swing the stone. His body is coiled, and he has an intensely concentrated energy, a stillness before the huge, physical motion. Do you see all the emotions captured here? Nervousness. Purpose. Courage. David acts with his hands, but all of his intellectual energy is concentrated in his head. You see how artists can make statements by changing the scale?”

“But Mr. Leeds,” Louis spoke up. “We can do that with Photoshop as well. Why do we need to do it by hand?”

At that moment, the class heard a disturbance at the door. It was difficult to see in the dimmed classroom. Someone was struggling to open it, making a racket with the door knob.

Mr. Leeds slowly walked toward the door, still facing the class and talking. “Hand drawing gives you a feel, Louis, for whether things feel right or wrong. If you draw things out, you’ll feel the muscle memory in your hands, and after a while, you’ll learn to trust it. There's no replacing that. You don’t have to be the world’s best draftsman. In fact, you don't even have to be good.” He twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open. “There are grids there to help you. But you learn by going through the exercise. Some things just have to be done by hand.”

Louis nudged Niall suggestively, and they both burst out in snickers. Louis’s laughter died as soon as he saw the student walk through the door.

“Sorry,” the student muttered. He had his head lowered. He was tall and lean, with a long torso and even longer, leaner legs, shrink-wrapped into skin-tight, black, ripped jeans. A scarf was tied around a head of wavy, chestnut-colored curls. “I couldn't find the class. I was trying to pull but the door—“

His accent was British. He looked up. His eyes were the color of the soccer field and the sky.

The class snickered softly, and students murmured amongst themselves.

“It’s okay,” Mr. Leeds said. “Come on in. Find a seat.”

_Shit._

_Fucking Michelangelo’s David, dressed in plaid and jeans, just walked into that classroom._

Louis was glad the room was dark. He felt himself flush from his toes all the way up to his scalp. He gulped drily.

He leaned toward Niall. “Who is that?”

“Harry Styles,” Niall replied, “I think? From seventh grade soccer. He’s gotten bigger.”

“Yeah,” Louis swallowed. “He's built like a fucking superhero. But not the less clueless, it seems.”

“Yeah, the poor guy,” Niall said. “Brain’s still catching up to his body.”

“Mm.”

Louis watched in horror as he realized that the only empty seat in the room was next to him. Harry looked around in bewilderment, finally spotting the empty drafting table. He twisted his body sideways to come down the aisle.

Louis noticed the dimple in Harry's zipper where it curved into his crotch. Those jeans were too fucking small. Louis looked away, a second too late.

Harry was holding a stack of notebooks, on top of which was a beat-up leather book with letters and words carved into the cover, in tiny, scratchy handwriting. He turned to sit, staring straight ahead. His body seemed to jackknife into the seat, as he shoved his stack of books under the chair.

“Hey,” Louis said in his direction.

Without looking, Harry replied, “Hey.”

Mr. Leeds flipped to the next image, a rubric for their next assignment.

“All right, class. This will be due in two weeks. You'll have time to work on it in class, but you can come by during study period or after school too. The door will be unlocked, so don't leave any personal belongings here. You all have access to the original artwork on the website.” The class shifted, became restless. “Follow the rubric here, choose an artist’s work, and copy it by hand, scaling up 2.75 times as directed, and then down 0.75 times. I know,” he waved his hand as the class groaned and complained. “It's tedious. I get it. But we’ll do other fun things later. I promise.”

Julie raised her hand. “Mr. Leeds? Can we draw something that's not from the website?”

“Such as?”

“I don't know,” Julie said. She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “Maybe… an original design?”

“Hmm,” Mr. Leeds pondered. “I'd say, not this time, Julie. The goal of this assignment is to learn how to redraw other people’s designs to scale. This is a particular kind of challenge, to do something unfamiliar in your hand. You learn something about someone’s else’s kinesiology by doing that; you learn how their hands felt when they made the design.”

Some of the students looked at him skeptically.

“Don't you want to know how it felt to draw Van Gogh’s _Dr. Gachet_?” He received a handful of puzzled looks. “A Rembrandt self portrait? No? A Modigliani nude?”

“How about Michelangelo’s _David_?” Louis asked. He glanced sideways at Harry.

“Sure, if you feel up to it!” Mr. Leeds said. “Remember, something monumental can feel _intimate_ with a change of scale. And something small and personal... well, it can become _heroic_."

The bell rang. The students shuffled to gather their belongings. Niall stood up to wait for Louis.

Louis turned to Harry.

“You're Harry Styles,” he said. He waited.

“You're Louis Tomlinson.” Harry turned to face Louis. His voice certainly wasn't high and happy anymore. It was low and guttural. Raspy and measured. Louis felt a little nauseous.

Harry’s eyes bore through the back of Louis’s head. Louis noticed a few pimples on Harry’s forehead. His skin looked soft. The facial hair around his chin and lips was so sparse, it looked fake.

“Wait,” Louis said. “You know me?” Despite Louis’s secure self-confidence, he felt a spark of happiness, somehow, that Harry knew who he was.

“Everyone knows you.” Harry said, flatly.

“What’s that mean?”

“The footb— soccer team,” Harry said. “Everyone knows the captain of the state champs.” He swooped his long left arm under the seat and scooped up all of his notebooks, Louis noticed, with one, giant hand. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“Why so fast, Styles?" Louis said, with a slightly mean edge, "You just got here.”

“You're funny.” There was no amusement in his voice. Harry stood up. “Later, Tomlinson.”

“Hey!” Louis called out to him. “Your notebook. The one with all the scratchy writing on it.”

Harry stopped in his tracks.

“What is that? Like, your diary?”

Harry continued walking without turning around. Louis and Niall watched him go through the door, his hand hitting the door frame. Harry shook it out. Time ticked by.

“He’s a bit of a tragedy,” Niall nodded toward the door. “Isn’t he?”

Louis narrowed his eyes.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A week and a half later, Louis bolted down the hallway toward the industrial arts classroom. Soccer practice was done; he had just finished his two-mile run. It was nearly 5:30 in the afternoon, and the janitorial staff was cleaning up their supplies. Athletes were stuffing equipment and dirty clothes into bags and heading out to their cars.

And Louis was terribly, dramatically late with his art assignment.

Most of Louis’s time in class had been spent flipping through random websites, exchanging texts with Niall, or checking Harry out.

Harry, for his part, worked silently, with a fierce concentration, as if he had built invisible, Louis-proof fences around his desk. He deflected all attention from Louis like a Jedi with a light saber. If he was aware of Louis’s eyes on him, he made no move to acknowledge them. After the first day, he never talked to Louis again.

From time to time, Louis tried to sneak a look at Harry’s drawing, but he didn't want to appear too obvious. A man could only walk up to ask Mr. Leeds a question, or go to the toilet, or get extra scrap paper, like, twice per class period, max, without looking like an asshole. The stretching-your-arms-out-to-yawn-while-sneaking-a-look tactic was also pretty rom-com tacky.

Louis was captain of the fucking state championship team. He didn't need to play fake shy-boy. He was a _star_.

But damn, that kid. Louis was curious and—to be honest—a bit flustered. He just had to know. What was up with Harry Styles? Why so secretive? What was with the head scarf? Why the British accent?

Harry dressed like a grungy rock star, carried himself like he had an invitation to the apocalypse, looked like a fucking angel. Louis didn't know what was happening, but Harry seemed to suck up all his time.

There was only one problem.The scaling assignment was due in two days, and Louis was nowhere close to finishing. In fact, he had barely started. All these distractions had caused him to fall behind. Louis needed a passing grade in the class to keep playing soccer. They were in the middle of the season, with six more weeks until tournament. As a senior, it was Louis’s last chance to go to the state championship. He couldn't afford to be suspended.

Louis punched open the door to the art room, hearing it slam into the door stopper. He walked with a singular purpose toward his desk. He planned to log on to the website and find some easy design to scale up and down, maybe cheat by tracing over Photoshop or something, and make it look halfway presentable. He had started on one already. It was pretty shitty, he had to admit. But come on, he wasn't designing for NASA, for God’s sakes; it didn't have to fly to the fucking moon. _This is for soccer_ , he reminded himself. _For soccer._

Once in the classroom, however, he noticed he wasn't alone. He heard soft voices.

Louis skirted toward the shadowy side of the corridor leading into the classroom. In the corner where his desk was, Harry was sitting at his drafting table. Another person stood next to him, looking at something on the table top. They were conversing. Louis strained to hear them.

“…own design?”

“…borrowed some from … website … locks and pins, but I designed the … myself.”

“… really beautiful, Harry.”

The person was their classmate, Julie. She leaned in to look more closely at whatever was on his table, holding her hair back with two hands. Harry had one hand on the table, holding something in place. His other hand was draped on his chair, behind Julie’s back. He moved his chair slightly to the side so she could move in and see better.

“How long … take you?”

“On and off, … month,” Harry said. “I finished the assignment … easier … work here.”

Louis made a deliberate noise and came in to the room.

“Howdy!” Louis said. “What are you guys doing here?”

Both Julie and Harry looked up, slightly startled. Louis saw Harry’s eyebrows furrow for an instant.

“Hi, Louis,” Julie said. “I was just finishing up my assignment for Friday. You should see what Harry’s done. It's really cool.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis walked slowly toward the desk. “Let's have a look, then.”

As Louis came nearer to the table, he saw Harry move his hand to shield whatever was there. It appeared to be a book.

“You wouldn't be interested,” Harry said, moving his arms forward to cover his desktop. “It has nothing to do with class.”

“Are you playing Jedi mind tricks on me again, Styles?” Louis laughed, waving one hand in front of himself, palm down. “ _This is not the art you’re looking for_. Ha! In fact, I _am_ interested.”

He stared curiously from Julie to Harry. Harry said nothing in reply. They glared silently at each other. After a beat, Julie sensed the tension in the air.

“Guys, I'm taking off. I'll see you in class on Friday?”

“See you, Julie,” Harry said. “Thanks, for what you said.”

“No problem, Harry. Loved the design,” Julie said. “ _Ci vediamo, bellissimo._ ” She blew a kiss, picked up her backpack and started walking, but not before looking back oddly at Louis.

Louis walked around Harry’s table and sat down at his own table. Harry began to clean up his things, putting them away in drawers or in his duffle bag. Louis noticed that the book he had been showing Julie was the beat-up leather one with the scratchy writing on it, which he carefully tucked into the duffle.

“Yo, Styles, leaving again?”

Harry didn't answer him. He continued cleaning up as if Louis had never spoken. Louis took a deep breath.

“Look,” Louis said, quickly. “I'm sorry. For whatever’s bothering you. Whatever flew up your ass, _today_.” He saw Harry pause briefly, his knuckles whitening, and then resume cleaning. “Listen, Styles, I have a huge, huge problem, and I was wondering if you could help me.”

Harry paused. Louis could see him bite his jaw.

“What's the matter,” Harry finally muttered, looking straight ahead, “is your ego getting blown so much that you can't think straight?”

“What?” Louis was stunned.

“Starboy didn't do his homework. Am I right? Can’t play soccer this weekend."

Louis blushed. Harry hit the nail on the head. _Damn_.

And his slow, gritty accent. Lord. _Cahn’t play soccah this week-end'._ Someone get a cold bath ready for Louis.

“Harry,” Louis walked around to stand in front of Harry’s table, opposite him. He planted himself between Harry and the exit.

“Seriously, Tomlinson,” Harry said, looking up. His eyes traced Louis’s in a mesmerizing way. Louis stared into that pool of green, getting lost in it. He forgot why he was there, for a second. “Can you fucking leave me alone?”

Louis snapped out of it. “What is your shit?” Louis yelled. “I have done nothing to you. What’s your damage, anyway?”

Harry sighed and raised his arms above his head.

“Obviously, Tomlinson, you didn't do your assignment, and you're panicking.” Harry observed the uncomfortable way Louis squirmed. “You act like a dick, yet you have no problems asking for a favor, when you need one.”

“I'm not a dick,” Louis laughed. “Pfft. How am I a dick?”

“You're a jackass,” Harry said. “You say things, and you don't remember saying them. You can't even remember humiliating someone until they had no sense of dignity left.” Louis made a face to protest this ridiculous accusation. _God, someone was oversensitive._ “No? No recollection? You were a jackass in seventh grade, and you still are.”

Louis tilted his head. What was he even talking about?

Harry was watching him intently. Suddenly, realization flowed into Louis like warm pee into his pants.

It was seventh grade soccer. That was the last time he remembered talking to Harry— if he could even call it talking. Maybe he yelled once or twice. But surely Harry was exaggerating? They had barely interacted on the field, if Louis remembered correctly. After seventh grade, Harry had moved to a different school. Louis hadn't seen him until they started high school.

They never had a class together before, so Louis didn't think twice about Harry. He was one person in a sea of faces, indistinguishable, until he walked into that classroom. Louis had no clue about the intensity of Harry’s personal feeling.

Louis had been fair as captain, he thought; he wasn't nearly as hardcore as he was now. He had exercised self-control. He didn't single anyone out to criticize. He was not a bully. Right?

“So you're, like, holding a grudge from seventh grade? Mature, Styles.”

Harry glanced at him, sidelong. He picked up his duffle and started walking.

“Wait!” Louis couldn't believe it. He had seldom been in this position before, not with another student. He was going to have to beg. He was going to have to— _fuck it_ —apologize.

“Harry, seriously, I am in deep shit. This is a non-negotiable situation for me. I need to play in tournament. Name your price. I'll do it. I need this assignment done, like, yesterday.” Louis ran and stood in front of Harry. “I know you're good with—all this art stuff. And you're already done with yours. Come on, man. Give a bro a break, will you?”

Louis stood with legs apart, at shoulder width, his chin raised, looking up into Harry’s face.

Harry’s curls hung damp around his face, held tightly by a mottled olive-colored scarf, and a thin trace of sweat outlined his upper lip. He said nothing in reply. A green fire burned coldly in his eyes.

“All right,” Louis said. “Fine. I was— am, an asshole, sometimes. I'm so— sorry. Please, Harry.” Louis couldn't believe these words came from his mouth. He dry-heaved a little. He watched Harry glaring back at him, narrowing one eye, his lips in a thin line."I'm sorry. Yegghh." 

“First of all,” Harry stared Louis down, speaking slowly, his brows cruelly skeptical, “I'm not your bro.” Louis waited impatiently. “And second, I do have some school spirit.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Harry sighed exaggeratedly, “I'm not depriving the school of a championship because the captain of the team has more looks than brains. Has diarrhea for brains, in fact. The whole school shouldn't suffer because he’s a toddler.”

It sounded like _toad-luh._ Louis might be slowly seduced by that dumb voice.

“You'll do it?” Louis’s heart skipped.

Harry put his bag down, next to his desk. “On one condition. Louis. From now on, we’re even. I help you, I forgive you, you leave me alone.” Louis nodded slowly, up and down. “Don't look at me. Don't talk to me. Don't pretend like you know me in the hallways. Deal?”

“In public?” Louis asked. “Or forever?”

“Preferably, you'll act like I don't exist,” Harry said. “And vice versa.”

“Deal!” Louis jumped.

 _Ignore Harry? He does that_ now _. Whatever._

“What do we do first?”

“First,” Harry drawled. “You give me a back massage. I've been here all day. My back’s killing me.” Louis stared unbelievingly at Harry. Harry cocked his head, as if to say, _chop chop, what are you waiting for?_ He paused for a few seconds.

“Got you,” Harry said. _Gott yeh_.

“Bastard.”

“First you get your design. Do you have it?”

“It's right here.” Louis opened his folder on the table. He had downloaded the image a few days ago. The pathetic outline of a 2.75 scale-up was on a crinkled and spotted sheet of heavy sketching paper.

“What is this?” Harry asked, unimpressed.

“It's my work,” Louis said. “Like, the start of it.”

Without another word, Harry tore the drawing out of the sketch pad and crumpled it up, throwing it to the ground.

“Hey! What the fuck!”

“Unacceptable,” Harry said. “Were you using it as a napkin while eating a sausage roll? You can't turn that in.”

“First, I'm not allowed to eat junk food, and second—what the fucking hell? That took me a week!”

“No, it didn't. You were screwing around with Niall for a week.” Louis started to protest, but thought better of it. Unfortunately, Harry was right. Louis had an uncomfortable, yet slightly satisfied feeling that Harry had been watching him all week. “Start over. Do it yourself. I'll stay and help you.”

“Shit, Styles, this is not what I envisioned,” Louis groaned. “It's gonna take fucking forever.”

“Four or five hours, tops. Unless you're as incompetent as I imagine.” Louis checked Harry’s facial expression, which was serious. “Did you think I was going to do it for you?”

“Shit, Harry.”

“You can do it, Starboy.”

“You're a fucker.” Louis sighed. He hung his chin, defeated.

“Well, it's only the state championship,” Harry sang merrily. “Last year! Now or never!”

_Fucker. Jerk off. Fucking jerk face._

Well, at least he was here with Louis.

Louis opened his computer and logged on. He looked over at Harry’s face. He had honestly never seen someone more hatefully gleeful.  
 


	4. Chapter 4

They were tied, two-two.

Nick’s team was on the defense. Niall had moved the ball down the field, and was passing to Louis for an angled shot from the right side of the field. Louis dribbled the ball, easily avoiding the defenders. He passed it back to Niall and ran left.

Out of the corner of Louis’s eye, he saw Harry running parallel to him. Harry ran between two players on Nick’s team.

Louis was set up for the goal kick. He signaled to Niall. Niall passed.

Louis drilled the ball toward the near post of the goal. In the split second as he turned his head, he saw Harry run into the ball, and the ball bounce from Harry’s body into someone’s legs.

The whistle blew.

Louis ran up to Harry. “How could you, Harry!”

“I didn't expect it, Louis,” Harry stammered. “I didn't see you run this way. I'm sorry.”

“It's the first thing you learn, after you learn which side your goal’s on. God!”

The rest of the team hung back.

“Harry, you were offside,” Mr. Moran said. “Did you know that?” Their teacher signaled for the penalty kick.

“You never put yourself in an offside position,” Louis said, “especially to interfere with you own goal. Ugh!”

Niall ran up to Louis and said something indistinguishable.

“Yeah, but I wish he didn't do this all the time,” Louis answered, looking Harry’s way. Niall talked some more. He put his hand on Louis’s shoulder, his head close to Louis’s. Louis nodded. “Yeah, all right. You're right.” He shook his head in disappointment.

The penalty kick went in. Three-two. They lost.

 

••••

 

  
After three hours of work, Louis was almost done with the 2.75x scale-up. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes. Harry was bent over his drafting table, working on a drawing. He had his book open to one side, and referred to it from time to time, checking back and forth.

Louis was playing music from his phone. Otherwise the room was quietly peaceful.

“Harry,” Louis said.

“Hmm?”

“I think I'm done for the night.”

Harry looked up. “You sure?”

He walked over and checked on Louis’s work, looking unemotionally at the drawing rendered. Louis had chosen Picasso’s _Bottle and Wine Glass on the Table_ , from his Cubist period. Harry thought this drawing, with its angular lines and flat perspective, could be manageable in a short period of time. Once Louis finished the scale-up, the scale-down should feel familiar, shouldn't take as long. He could work on it tomorrow.

“What’s this?” Harry pointed to the corner.

“My signature,” Louis beamed. “You like it?”

Harry’s lips twitched. “It's not customary to add your own signature to a Picasso, Tomlinson, but you do you. So. We’re done?”

Louis nodded. Harry walked to his desk and began putting things away. He had his back to Louis. He worked silently and quickly, while Louis sat watching him.

“Harry,” Louis said.

He answered without stopping. “What?”

“What were you working on?”

Harry stopped, straightened himself, and turned toward Louis.

“Why are you asking?”

Louis shrugged. “No reason. Curious.”

“Why?”

“You showed Julie before, and she said—she seemed impressed with it. So, I was just wondering if I could get a look, too.”

Harry thought for a moment, watching Louis. Louis gave him a sincere and open smile.

“It's okay if you don't want to,” Louis said. “Up to you.”

Harry bent down and took out his leather book. He opened it to a center page.

“Come over here,” he said.

Louis walked over slowly, his curiosity piquing. Harry had spread the book flat on the table.

On the page was a series of meticulous pencil drawings, as precise and realistic as photographs. Louis recognized the drawing of a box in the middle of the page, and then a couple of renderings of the box opened at different angles. And then there were other things, scraps and starts of things, that he couldn't put together. They were so precise, they looked like blue prints.

“Wow,” Louis said.

Harry said nothing. He was waiting tensely for Louis.

“Wow,” Louis said, again. “You have really big hands.” He let a laugh escape.

Harry made a move to shut the book. Louis reached out and stopped his wrist with a touch.

“I'm kidding. Hold the phone, Styles. You're so skittish.” He felt Harry’s hand relax. “This is pretty amazing, though. What is it?”

“It's nothing,” Harry said. “A project I've been working on.”

“What kind of project?” Louis watched Harry. Harry looked at his book, a number of feelings fleeing across his face. “Is it a secret?”

“No,” Harry said, finally closing the book. “It’s not a secret. It's private.”

“What’s the difference, though?” Louis laughed. “You got something to hide?”

Harry picked up his duffle and slung it on his shoulder. His body listed against the weight of it. “The difference is a matter of perspective,” he said. “See you later, Tomlinson. Remember our deal.”

As Harry walked down the corridor, Louis called out, “Harry!”

Harry stopped. Without turning around, he said, “What?”

Louis walked over to him, and facing Harry’s back, said, “Thanks a lot. I really appreciate what you did today. I hate being by myself.”

Harry stilled, his body leaning at an angle away from his bag. His broad shoulders were bunched at the top, and one hand hung loosely at the side, the other gripped his bag. Louis noticed that he had extra-long shoelaces tied around the tops of his Chuck Taylor high tops.

“See you Friday,” Harry said. He walked out of the room.

Louis smiled and went back to his desk. He glanced over at Harry’s drafting table. For once, there was no one interfering with his nosiness. He could look at it as long as he wanted to. A sheet of heavy drawing paper was clipped to the table.

In the time that Louis had been arduously calculating his scale-up— drawing the grids, making the rough outline of the simple figures, and filling in the shadow, Harry had made another drawing of his mystery box on the paper. Louis could see the faint shadows of a design on the lid, and at the place where the clasp would be, there were a strange, old-looking lock, like an antique padlock, attached to the box. The top of the padlock curved up to insert through the box. The clasp was a difficult puzzle.

It was weirdly beautiful. A riddle and a piece of art.

Louis traced his finger over the drawing, wishing it was something real and material. He felt as if he would understand, if only he could touch it.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Three weeks later, Louis and Niall piled into Louis’s car after soccer practice. They were sweaty and smelly and dirty. They had won their sectionals easily that past weekend. The regional tournament was next.

True to his promise, Louis didn't try to talk to, greet, or acknowledge Harry in any way. He made sure not even to breathe in his direction, lest the air from their lungs intermingled.

As for Harry, he continued to act as if Louis wasn't there. There were no exchanged looks. There was no response to Louis’s jokes in class. Louis didn't try to comment on anything Harry said, and Harry didn't act as if he cared. They passed in the hallways like strangers, oblivious of each other.

Only once, on the day they turned in their scaling assignment, did Louis detect anything from Harry. As Louis went up to hand in his drawings and was walking back to his desk, he saw Harry following him with his eyes, then quickly look down. Louis couldn't be sure, but Harry might have had a tiny smile. After that time, there was only détente from Harry, the human embodiment of _The Iceman Cometh_.

Louis started the car and backed out of the parking space in the school parking lot. Niall took his shoes off and raised his feet to the dashboard.

“Hey, Lou,” Niall said.

Louis elbowed Niall’s thighs, hard. “Fucking stinks, Horan, do you mind?”

Niall lowered his windows. “Roll your windows down, man. My dogs are barking.”

Louis looked at Niall. “Your _dogs_? What are you, a hundred? Weirdo.”

Niall ignored him. “What do you think, Lou? About the tournament this year?”

Louis made the turn out of the school drive. He gave Niall a disgusted look. By now, Louis knew Niall wouldn't listen to him anyway.

“I'm feeling good,” Louis said. “Barring any injuries between now and then, and if Selley and Atkinson keep up their attack game, I think we have a chance.”

“All seniors,” Niall said.

“I'm gonna miss them,” Louis said. “Damn. What a great crew, Ni. Hard workers, all of them. Been together for so many years, played so many good games. I'm misty just thinking about it.”

“I think you pushed them to just about their limit,” Niall laughed.

“A good team suffers and learns together,” Louis said. “We do have some good guys coming up, though. Turner, Chan, Bardem.”

“Juniors and sophomores,” Niall said. “Chan’s captain material, don't you think?”

“He’d be my top pick, probably,” Louis said. “Chan or Bardem. They’re both smart. Good athletes. Calm under pressure. Chan has more respect from the team, but Bardem gets things done.”

“Just like you,” Niall snorted. “ _Not_!”

“Hey! I’m smart!” Louis protested. “I'm a good athlete!”

“Exactly, mon capitaine,” Niall laughed. “It's the calm part that's a bit lacking.”

“Fuck off, man. I'm calm when it counts.”

Niall couldn't argue with that. There were two state championship trophies in the school display case to back it up.

“You're right, Lou. Gotta give you that.”

Their school was near the city center, within walking distance of city hall, the library, a fire station, a post office. A cluster of restaurants and a movie theater were open until 10 PM, and then the place went dead.

Most families lived on the outskirts of the city in a few different subdivisions. Niall lived on the far western end, near Camden Lake, and Louis was closer to the city itself. After soccer, Louis always dropped Niall off first.

Just outside the city blocks, the landscape changed into scattered plots of meadows and woods, now burnished with a late October bronze light, nearly bare of leaves. The sun slanted into their eyes. The roads turned gravelly and uneven.

They drove past the scrap yard where old cars and appliances went to die. A swirl of dirt trailed behind Louis’s car. As usual, there were no other cars on the road.

Just past the yard, Louis noticed a figure walking along the side of the road, dragging something behind him on the ground. He was carrying something else on his shoulder, too. From far away, he looked like a stranded traveling salesman from a different century.

Louis drove slowly past. Immediately, he recognized the slight listing of the shoulders, the duffle, the ripped black jeans. And most unmistakably, the head scarf trailing down the back of the head.

He braked slowly and started backing up.

“Yo, Lou,” Niall said, setting his feet down. “What up?” Niall glanced back at the road.

Louis looked at the sideview mirrors and carefully backed up to where Harry was, walking along the road. He powered Niall’s window down.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Need a lift?”

Recognition dawned on Harry’s face as Niall peered out the window. Harry looked past Niall and saw Louis, and then back to Niall again. Louis could tell he was debating whether to say anything.

“We can help you,” Louis said, loudly. He could see Harry’s face register a question.

“To do what?” Harry said, his brows furrowed.

“Get rid of the body, of course,” Louis said. He pointed at the bag Harry had been dragging. “Poor planning, Styles. Murdering someone without a getaway car.”

Niall laughed and looked back at Louis. Then he watched Harry, who hadn't smiled at all.

“No thanks,” Harry said. He started walking again, dragging his bag behind him. Louis could hear that it was loud, and filled with—metal? Whatever it was, it made a racket. Harry seemed aware of the cacophony and walked with even more determination, steadfastly forward, not looking back.

Louis followed slowly with the car, matching Harry’s pace.

“It's no trouble,” Louis shouted.

Harry ignored him and kept walking. His mouth was set in a firm line. His duffle slipped a little in the struggle, and he hoisted it back up. Louis could see how tightly he gripped the bag he was dragging. It raised a small tuft of dust all around.

“Harry!” Niall said. Harry stopped and turned. “It seems really heavy. You sure?”

“It's only a couple of miles, Niall,” Harry answered. “It's all right.”

Niall motioned for Louis to stop the car. He opened his car door, ran to Harry, and lifted the bag. Then he dropped it with a grunt.

“Motherfucker,” Niall said. “It _feels_ like there's a dead body in there.”

“Niall,” Harry said. He paused, and then added, “Let me get it.”

Together, they dragged the bag toward the car. Harry glanced up at Louis, who said nothing. Niall opened the trunk, and they both hoisted the bag in, with some effort. Then Harry tossed in his duffle.

“What's in there, Harry?” Niall asked.

“Scraps,” Harry said. “Just some scrap metal.” Niall’s puzzled look prompted him. “For a thing I'm working on.”

They opened the car doors and got in. Without questioning Harry, Louis looked straight ahead and accelerated the car. They all heard the loud settling of metal chunks in the trunk as the car rattled along in the dirt-covered road.

“Where to, Harry?” Louis asked.

“I live—near Twin Pines,” Harry said. “I can give you directions.”

“Drop me off first, Lou, can you?” Niall interrupted. “If you don't mind, Harry? I'm supposed to help my dad bag leaves today. We cleaned up the yard this weekend, and the leaves are just sitting there in a big pile. Last year we did eight huge bags. If I don't get home, my mom’ll kill me.”

“Harry?” Louis asked.

Harry looked down, and then spoke in Niall’s direction, “Yeah, okay.”

They drove along, the warm air of the afternoon seeping away quickly, giving to a dry chill. The car soon passed the opaque waters of a small, tranquil lake. Louis turned into the Camden Lake subdivision and down a few winding turns. They let Niall out at his house. He grabbed his things from the trunk, waved goodbye, and left car door open for Harry to move up front. Then he ran up the driveway and disappeared toward the back of the house. Louis kept the engine running.

“You can sit up here, Harry,” Louis said. “Lots more room for your giraffe legs. It'll be more comfortable. We can maintain radio silence if you want.”

Harry got out and went into the front seat, still warm from Niall’s body. Even with more space, his knees pointed up at an acute angle, like a bird’s wings in repose. He closed the door and seemed to slouch down on himself, folding his hands in his lap. His clothes were covered with a fine layer of dust. Its chalky smell lifted into the air.

Louis started driving.

“Twin Pines. That's near Forest Park, isn't it?” Louis said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “In that direction.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Louis flipped the radio on.

“Hey, Harry,” Louis said. “Do you mind if I ask you something? Now that we’re, you know, not in public.”

Harry turned to him. Louis had the feeling, again, of someone staring at his innermost essence, stripping away his layers of self-defense. Nevertheless, he plowed ahead.

“All that stuff you dragged from the scrap yard. What do you do with all that junk?”

Harry turned away, a hand cupping his chin, staring out the window. They were nearing the gently sloping woods of Forest Park.

“Turn left here,” Harry said.

Louis turned down a small street dipping gently down. Tree trunks cast shadows on both sides of the road. The road curved in hairpins, becoming harder to see around the bend.

“I weld,” Harry answered, finally.

Louis turned to stare at him. “You have a part-time job?”

Harry smiled, for the first time that day. “It's not a job. I just do it. Take a right down there, near that mailbox.”

“Where?” Louis couldn’t see anything but bare trees. He looked in the direction that Harry pointed. There was a lonely mailbox next to the road, standing like a pint-sized sentinel, marking the end of a dark, leaf-strewn driveway. As they got closer, Louis saw the writing on the box, “4717 STYLES.”

“Harry, I can't believe you were going to walk home,” Louis said. “This is a fucking long way.”

“It's not far,” Harry said. “I've done it before.” They pulled into the narrow driveway and started ascending it, untrimmed branches converging on both sides.

“Well, it's not safe,” Louis said. “Especially in the dark. You should ask for a ride next time.”

Harry looked down and said nothing.

“So. Can I see it?” Louis asked. “The thing you're working on?” He thought about the drawing he had seen on Harry’s drafting table, the box with the elaborate lock. Now that he knew Harry was a welder, his curiosity nearly overwhelmed hm. Something in his mind itched to see whether it was real.

They pulled up to the house, a two-story bungalow with a stone façade. It rose up from the ground, Louis thought, like an evil gingerbread house. Or maybe that was just the darkness talking. The bushes in front of the house were overgrown, the tops uneven and floppy. Flowerbeds lining the driveway had a few weeds but were otherwise bare.

“I don't think so,” Harry said. He pushed open the car door. “Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow.”

He exited the car, took his belongings out of the trunk, and dragged it up to the house. The metal made a horrible clank up the walk. Louis watched him open the door with a key, go inside, and close the door without a second glance.

 


	6. Chapter 6

  
A week later, Louis was on the pitch, helping his coach put away the soccer balls and equipment. They had finished drilling a new attack and defense. The regional tournament was in four days. The rest of the team had started their two-mile run. Louis would catch up in a bit.

He noticed a figure coming out of the rear door of the school, closest to the athletic fields. The lean, tall figure carried a duffle to one side, his shoulder leaning slightly in the opposite direction for balance. He was walking toward the school driveway. Louis hurried to gather the rest of the cones and balls together.

“Coach, I'll be right back,” Louis said. “Leave the rest. I'll take care of it, ok?”

He ran toward Harry in his sweaty work-out clothes and cleats. As usual, Harry was in a plaid shirt over a plain T-shirt and ripped jeans, and as usual, he looked spectacular.

Harry looked up at Louis, running toward him with his hair flopping, and stopped in his tracks.

“Hey,” Louis said.

“Hey,” Harry said. He waited for Louis to say something. When he didn't right away, Harry resumed walking.

“Hold up, Harry,” Louis said, puffing out a breath. “This is, like, the Great Chase. You're constantly running away from me.”

“Maybe it’s a hint,” Harry said. Louis looked over. Was he smirking?

Louis reached out and put his hand on Harry’s forearm. “Stop for a sec, Harry. I need to ask you something important.”

Harry looked up. Louis’s face was one of complete seriousness.

“What, Lou?” 

“Okay, since no one’s around, I’m technically not breaking our deal.” Louis gestured to the fields around him, watching Harry as he shrugged. Harry didn't seem to care. “So. Here goes. Harry Styles, do you have school spirit?” Louis asked, in a low, somber voice.

Harry scrunched his nose. “What are you on about, jockstrap?” 

“Yes or no,” Louis persisted. “And, before you say anything, remember your sworn testimony before.” 

“Careful, Tomlinson.” Harry sniffed. “ _Testimony_. Don’t trip over those big words. Did your girlfriend teach you?” 

His voice was killing Louis. The gravelly low tones were a magnetic tide that pulled Louis in, put him in a boat and stranded him on an island. Louis just wanted him to keep talking forever.

“Sorry, Styles. 'M not interested in girls," Louis said. "Except as friends." Harry’s face became confused. He actually seemed to be taken aback. Louis felt a little smug. “I’m asking a simple question, Styles. School spirit. Yes or no.”

It took Harry a moment to recover. Eventually, realization dawned over his face. His expression wavered between amusement and annoyance.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Harry finally said. “Good luck on the game this weekend.” He started walking away.

Louis stopped him with a touch on the arm, more forcefully this time.

“Are you coming?” Louis waited, barely breathing.

“What for?” Harry answered. “I'll find out on Monday. If you win, the whole school will be decorated with your face, even more ridiculously than it already is. If you lose—God forbid—everyone will be wearing funeral colors.”

“But your school spirit,” Louis protested. “We need you.”

Harry laughed. “Soccer’s not my favorite sport, Louis. In case you haven't figured it out.”

Louis swallowed.

“I—“ Louis stuttered. “I mean, I would really appreciate the support.”

Harry stared at Louis’s expectant face. Louis’s eyes were wide, bright, and grayish blue like the overcast sky. His hair was scattered and wind-mussed. There was a hint of facial hair around his jaw. He looked almost shy.

“You want me to come?”

Louis looked away. He chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, sure. I’d love it.”

“Then say it.”

“What?”

Louis was surprised. Harry was looking at him from lowered brows, like a cat playing with a mouse. A dimple was barely visible.

“Say it. I want you, Harry, to come see me play.”

Louis rocked on his feet. He turned his head and scratched his jaw.

“If you don't want to, Harry, it's fine,” Louis said, shrugging his shoulders. “‘S no big deal. I mean, it's not for me, but for the team. But whatever." Louis spoke quickly, trying to cover his embarrassment. "If it makes any difference, I can offer you chili dogs, all you can eat. We have dibs at the concession stand.”

“Thought you didn't eat junk food?”

“ _I_ don't. But we can, like, sneak it out for friends.”

Harry watched Louis as he touched his face nervously, shifting his feet back and forth. He scanned Louis from head to toe. Dirt clung to the crevices of his arms and legs. His collar bones held deep shadows. The muscles of his upper arms and legs were taut and defined.

Then Harry started walking.

“Good luck at the game, Tomlinson. I'm sure you'll leave ‘em gobsmacked.”

“Cheese fries, too!” Louis yelled with desperation, watching Harry’s back get away. “Coke products!”

Harry raised a hand in a victory salute, not bothering to turn around. His shoulders were broad, and even through two layers, Louis could make out the shapes of his shoulder blades. His body tapered to the slim and conforming jeans, the taut lines of his leg muscles visible through the fabric.

Louis ran up to face him. He stopped Harry in his tracks, grabbing him without thinking.

“I really want you, Harry Styles, to come watch me play,” Louis said, breathless.

He watched Harry nervously. Harry pursed his lips in a show of admiration. His eyes crinkled. Finally, he broke into a smile, his dimples deepening as Louis had never seen them.

“Will you come?” Louis asked.

He waited with dizzying anticipation. He wanted to be invisible and stroke Harry's stupid face, put his arms around him. Or maybe just to be invisible in Harry's arms. 

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Harry said. He winked at Louis. “Welding waits for no man.”

“Gotta strike while the iron’s hot?”

“Something like that,” Harry said. He looked at Louis’s hand on his arm. “You can let go of my arm now.”

Reluctantly, Louis dropped his hand.

“It really means a lot to me, Harry. To the team as well. Every bit of school spirit counts.”

“Mm. Right. The school spirit."

“I'll see ya, Harry.”

“Bye, Louis.” Harry smiled again and walked away. 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The Friday before the regional tournament game, Louis ran into the industry arts classroom, barely making the bell. Mr. Leeds was organizing his teaching materials at his desk. The class chattered loudly, everyone trying to talk over each other.

Louis and Niall were wearing their away jerseys, saving their home jerseys for tomorrow’s game. The hallways had been decorated in school colors, and the team players’ lockers had been decorated individually, with posters, balloons, and bags of candy.

Niall was chomping on a chocolate bar when Louis sat down. Louis noticed that Harry wasn't at his drafting table. Once Mr. Leeds quieted everyone down, and started his lesson, it was apparent that Harry wasn't going to be there. Louis’s heart skipped a beat.

“Before class starts,” Mr. Leeds announced, “I have a favor to ask. Is anyone here friends with Harry?”

“I am.” Julie raised her hand.

“Oh good, Julie,” Mr. Leeds said. “Will you be able to drop something off for him after school?”

Julie’s face fell. “I'd love to, Mr. Leeds, but I can't.” Her expression was apologetic. “My mom has the car today. I'm taking the bus home.”

“Oh, I see,” Mr. Leeds pondered. “Hmm. Well.” He scanned around the room. Some of the students had started chattering again. Mr. Leeds searched patiently.

“Mr. Leeds?” Louis raised his hand. “I have a car.”

“Louis! How very nice of you to volunteer. Are you sure?”

Niall glared at Louis as if he had grown another arm. Niall was a good enough friend that he noticed Louis’s feigned nonchalance, his pose of obvious indifference. In fact, his indifference was so exaggerated that Niall could tell it was fake.

Louis _cared_. And not only a little.

Louis ignored him.

“It's no problem.”

“Oh, good! Harry was just named a winner of the regional Visual and Fine Arts Competition. He qualifies for the nationals now. They've sent quite the trophy, and I just thought he might like to have it before the weekend.”

“Mr. Leeds, is he sick?” Louis couldn't help a note of concern creeping into his voice.

“He called in sick this morning,” Mr. Leeds said. “I don't have the details. That's all I've heard. So if you don't mind, Louis, please see me after class.”

  
•••

  
_I’m just doing a favor for the team_ , Louis thought. _This is completely altruistic._ Harry had promised to go to the game for school spirit, and if he was sick, and couldn't go, there was that much school spirit missing. It had nothing to do with Louis personally, or how much he wanted to see Harry.

Louis recalled the way to Harry’s house turn by turn. If anything, Forest Park was even more dreary than he remembered, everything covered in shades of brown and gray. Louis remembered the slight dip and turn, the stumpy mailbox marking the driveway. He pulled in. The house sat gloomily on the top of the hill, not one light on, as far as Louis could tell.

He carried the trophy up the walk to the front door. Despite its size, the trophy was light. It was engraved with Harry’s name, and then the words, “REGIONAL WINNER, METALWORK, 2017.” Louis was dying to see this metalwork. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

He rang the doorbell and waited. After several minutes, he rang it again, waiting impatiently. Just as Louis was ready to leave, he heard some shuffling noises inside, and saw a shadow approach the door.

Harry opened the door. He stood in a plain T-shirt and sweat pants, his face heated and pink, covered with patches of dirt.

“I was told you were sick,” Louis said.

Harry regarded him with a quiet air of judgment. If he was surprised to see Louis, he didn't show it. Louis noticed his hands were dirty, and his forearms were chaffed with sweat and dirt.

“What do you want?” Harry stood with a hand on the door. 

Louis shuffled his feet. “Rude. I’m doing you a favor, Styles.” 

Harry snuffled, then turned around and started walking away. “Too right, you are.” 

Harry left the door open and went inside. Louis followed him, closing the door behind himself.

Once inside, Louis took a quick survey. A few pairs of shoes lay by the door. A quick glance told him that they all belonged to Harry—Converse high tops, boots, sneakers.

The house was sparse, with almost nothing on the walls except large pieces of metal made into abstract shapes, some with designs or patterns on the surface. A large metallic sculpture was in the foyer, like a huge molten paper clip in matte dark silver. Louis looked again. There were no tables or chairs in the foyer, no plants or knick-knacks of any kind.

In fact, the wall was marred with scratches and marks. Dust bunnies were scattered along the wood floors. Where the living room should have been, there was a large piece of tarp covering almost all of the carpeting, and various pieces of metal scraps and tools scattered about.

Louis followed Harry. They passed the kitchen, which seemed sterile, as if it was seldom in use, except for the dirty dishes piled on the countertop. Alone, on the countertop, was the framed studio photo of a woman who had an uncanny resemblance to Harry. She looked to be in her thirties. She had long dark brown hair, and was smiling. Louis thought this must be Harry’s mother. Strangely, there was no more traces of her, or any other people, in the house—no sounds, photos, slippers, newspapers.

Harry walked toward a door in the back of the house, opened it, and revealed stairs to the basement. A dim light illuminated the way. Louis followed Harry down the steps.

Harry stood by the stairs and flicked on all the basement lights, Louis stared at the place in wonder, more amazed as each light turned on.

The entire basement was a large studio. There were pieces of metal everywhere. A couple of large machines were positioned around the space. There were welding masks and gloves, and other things Louis couldn't identify. The basement was filled with unfinished projects, from small abstract pieces to large, free-standing sculptures. Louis took a deep breath in.

“This is some sick set up, Harry,” Louis said. “Holy shit.”

“Welcome to the studio,” Harry answered. He gestured with a slight wave of his right hand. “This is me.”

Louis realized the Harry he knew was the tip of an iceberg. He couldn't have even imagined this side of Harry. In fact, he didn't really know _anything_ about him. He couldn't even imagine what was going on inside his mind. School seemed like an annoying nuisance compared to what Harry had here.

“You're a fucking artist.” Louis exhaled, in admiration.

Harry smiled. “Just messing around.”

“Come on. Shut up.” Louis started walking around slowly. He looked at the pieces, still awed by what he saw. “You should know how good you are, how amazing all of this is. How did you learn how to do all this?”

Harry looked away for a moment. Louis waited with a bubbling curiosity. Harry was a sycamore tree and he wanted to peel every layer.

Harry said, “My dad’s a sculptor. He works in bronze.”

“Have I heard of him?”

“Des Styles,” Harry said. “Do you know him?”

“Nope,” Louis said. “Can't say I have.”

“He's pretty big,” Harry laughed. “He works in London.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Louis asked.

Harry shrugged. Louis watched him intently, but Harry turned away and said nothing more. Louis walked over and gave Harry his trophy.

“I don't know,” he said. “This trophy seems like a piece of shit when I compare it to all… this,” Louis gestured around himself.

“What's this?” Harry read the inscription. He put the trophy on a clear space on top of a metal work bench. It looked diminutive and tame, a cat among lions. “Oh, nice.”

“Harry,” Louis said.

Harry looked up from the desk. His eyes were rimmed with a dark shadow. Louis realized that it was the first time he had seen Harry without a scarf. His hair hung loosely around his face, a dark chestnut color, in loose waves. The right arm hung loosely by his side, and his left was raised to his chest. For an instant, Louis thought he had the tense stance of a hero before the battle.

“Were you actually sick today?” Louis asked. He paused and watched Harry, who did not seem surprised.

“What does it matter,” Harry answered.

Louis threw up his hands in disbelief.

“Shouldn't you be in school?” Louis said with concern. “Won't your parents mind?”

“No, they don't,” Harry laughed sardonically. “They never do.”

“Why wouldn't they?”

Harry shrugged again. “They're artists.” As if this explained anything.

“So?” Louis was incredulous. He stepped closer to Harry, holding his gaze. “Harry, does anyone else actually live here?”

Harry broke the stare. He walked over to a table by the wall, and picked something up. He had his back turned to Louis for a minute. Then he seemed to make a decision and turned around. He held a box in his hand.

“Come here, Lou.”

Louis walked over and took the box from Harry’s hand. It was about six inches long, with an abstract pattern on the lid, a series of swirls carefully repeated. An antique lock was welded on and clamped through the top of the lid. There were several mechanical buttons on the lock. Louis immediately recognized it as the box Harry had drawn in class that night he had worked with Louis.

“This is the box,” Louis said. “The one in your book.”

“This is it,” Harry said.

Louis tried to open the box, but the lock held it tightly shut.

“H, you didn't give me the key,” Louis said.

Harry took the box from him. By pushing several of the buttons of the lock, a puzzle seemed to align, and the lock fell open, releasing the box with a clack.

Louis marveled at the construction. His fingers traced the lock. He imagined the tiny pins inside, each element working in concert to preserve the mystery. The box was hammered from a burnished, matte silver. The corners disappeared seamlessly. It was a small miracle of design.

Louis opened the box. Inside was a crystalline piece, in a dark, clear, bluish green color. It was a small, sharp piece of crystal. He turned it in his hand. It felt cool, but intimate and alive.

“I don't get it. What is this?” Louis asked.

“It’s a representation of air,” Harry said. “That's me as well.”

“What?” Louis snapped his head up. “Harry, I don't even know what you're talking about. What does this have to do with your parents? I mean, you’re living here by yourself, and you make all this hella amazing art, and this piece of crystal—“

“Aquamarine,” Harry said.

“Aquamarine, or whatever, is supposed to be you?”

“It's a representation of Aquarius,” Harry said, “my birth sign. Bluish green is the color of the atmosphere.”

“So? Lots of people are Aquarius,” Louis said. “And by the way, I breathe, too.”

Harry shrugged again, “That’s just me. I am air, Louis.”

“What are you talking about?” Louis pursued.

“I can vanish if I want to,” Harry said. “Disappear.”

“What the fuck?” Louis went to Harry’s side, and held on to his arm. He didn't even know why. “No fucking way. You're not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.”

Even as Louis felt the warmth and lean muscularity of Harry’s arm, he could feel Harry’s vulnerable center, the softness that he’d opened to show Louis. It was barely detectable, yet Louis could feel it in the room, a small and innocent thing.

Louis was immensely touched. It still blew his mind that Harry had made a box to remind himself that he was—nothing. _Air_. That he made an elaborate lock that no one but he could open.

Louis looked down at the box in his hand. “Did you make the lock yourself, Harry?”

“Mm. I did.”

“It's really cool. Cooler than your drawing of it, even.”

An image surfaced in Louis’s mind. He suddenly recalled the small sketches in Harry’s book, which he hadn't been able to make heads or tails of, at the time. They were pieces of the lock. Now it all made sense.

Harry lowered his head to his chest. “Thanks.”

“But how did you do it?” Louis asked. “How d’you even think of it? All these tiny pieces.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, again. Louis could see the slight tremor of his shoulder, the shaking of his hands. He could hear the unsteadiness of Harry’s voice, the way he was trying to keep it even, when he finally answered. “I’ve been studying locks for a while.”

“But this is genius. This whole mechanism fits like a puzzle. It’s like, impossible. It can't be done.”

Harry looked at Louis. His eyes seemed to brighten. He took the crystal from Louis’s hands and held it in his own, almost like a talisman.

“I like doing things that can't be done,” he replied.

Louis stared at Harry for a bit. Harry’s challenging expression, set in a stubborn, proud way, made him seem very young indeed. His hair cascading about his face, he looked like a boy facing an army.

“Oh, Harry.”

Louis put one hand on Harry’s shoulder. And then, impulsively, he pulled Harry in and threw both arms around him, squeezing him tight. Harry stood with his arms to his side. After a few seconds, when Louis didn't let go, Harry’s hand came up to touch Louis’s elbow. His head dipped down and he caressed his face to the side of Louis’s head, just a faint touch of pressure.

They stood still in the quiet basement. Louis felt Harry’s larger frame under his arms, his warmth radiating through the thin shirt, the unfamiliar, yet comfortable curves of his body relaxing moment by moment. He hung on to him like driftwood in a storm.

When Louis let Harry go, he said, “I can let myself out. Do you need anything, not-sick Harry? I can run to the grocery store for you, if you want.”

Harry shook his head. He seemed lighter, and more open toward Louis.

“Good luck tomorrow, Lou,” Harry gave him a smile. “Win, win, win.”

“You stupid dork,” Louis said. He touched Harry’s arm. “You are coming, right?”

Harry cocked his head cheekily. “I _might_ see you there,” Harry said. “Lost among thousands in the Louis Tomlinson cheer section."

“I’m holding you to it,” Louis said, pointing at him. “I'll be looking for you, Harry Styles. No fake illnesses.”

“I'm expecting my cheese fries and Coke products,” Harry grinned.

“Ha! Food whore.”

“You offered.”

They climbed up the basement stairs. Once again, Louis noticed the lack of any personal memorabilia anywhere. Harry could pick up and leave the house in a couple of hours. It was as if the starkness was intentional, as if he were living on Mars or something.

“Are you sure you're all right, Harry?” Louis asked. “I can stay with you, if you want.”

Harry laughed. There was no irony in it, this time. In fact, Louis could hear a genuine joy, and perhaps even self-consciousness.

“I grew out of babysitters a long time ago, Louis.”

“That's not what I mean, asshole,” Louis said. “I just meant, you know.” Louis looked around in embarrassment. What could he say? _If you need a friend. If you're lonely._

They reached the front door. Harry opened it.

“Hey, Louis,” he said. He stopped. Louis looked at him in concern. Harry didn't say anything more, but he didn't let go of the door either. A struggle was happening on Harry’s face. He turned, not wanting to give anything away. 

Louis pulled Harry closer to himself. He stood on his toes and gave Harry a small kiss on the cheek. His whiskers scratched Harry’s smooth skin.

“Hang in there, sweet Harry,” he said. “I'm right here. Okay?”

Harry looked into his eyes. Louis saw pins unlocking, a sliver of trust. And something else in the emerald depths, an inexpressible feeling.

“Okay.”  
 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“With this team, we’ll need a build up,” Coach said.

The players gathered under the lights of the stadium, the crowd cheering around them. Cheerleaders were facing the stands, doing cheers and flips behind the players. The noise of the crowd intermingled with sounds from the other side, the noisemakers and whistles.

“Momentum, fellas. They are known for their fast attacks. Louis, you're going to have to aggressively defend. Hang slow, lead from the back. Don't give them a chance to pass.” Louis looked at the coach and gave two quick nods. “James, give us a clean sheet. You can do this.” James Turner, the goalie, nodded. “Let’s go, fellas. Concentrate on the moment. Call it out, watch each other.”

They broke the huddle and went to their respective positions. Louis glanced toward the bleachers, then down at the ground where the fences separated the soccer pitch from the spectators. He was watching for a head with a headscarf, but could not make details out from this far away.

The game was just about to start. His fellow players were stretching, running short distances, warming up, running onto the field.

“You all right, Lou?” Niall asked.

“Of course,” Louis said. “I'm fine. You?”

“Yeah, good,” Niall said. “You expecting anyone special?” He nodded his head toward the stands.

“Just the family,” Louis lied. “They said they'd be on time. Trying to find them.”

As they ran to position, Niall noticed Louis’s sisters. It was always easier to spot the twins, Phoebe and Daisy, who were mirror images of each other. “There they are,” he pointed out.

Louis followed his fingers. In truth, Louis had already found them and waved to them ages ago. He waved again, gave them a double thumbs up. As his gaze travelled down, he saw a lean figure in a head scarf, climbing the stands to sit a little behind his family. His heart swelled and pulsed, and then did a double take. The figure wasn't alone. He was there with someone else.

Someone just as tall as Harry.

Louis couldn't help staring for a bit. They both sat down. He couldn't tell whether it was anyone he recognized from school.

Louis knew it was stupid, the stupidest thing to think about at that moment, but mentally he ran through a list of people he remembered hanging out with Harry in school. The problem was, he never saw Harry in school. They had made a pact never to acknowledge each other. He didn't know whether Harry had any other friends. He never thought he would regret this, but he was regretting it. He should have been more nosy.

And he shouldn't have assumed that Harry had no friends, just because of one encounter at his house. _Damn, damn, damn_. He was so stupid. Why would he think Harry was someone who needed protecting? Harry wasn't Louis’s business, period. He was just a kid in his class. Just a harmless, weird, orphaned kid or whatever his living situation was. He probably hung out with loads of people, and Louis just didn't know it. Didn't know him, period.

Louis made a compartment for Harry in his mind, sealed it, plastered it shut, locked it with a thousand pins, and focused on the game before him.

Soon, it was half-time. The score was tied, 1-1. The team had played well so far, using the up, back, and through offensive variations they had practiced the past few weeks, with Louis as the defender making the first pass. Maxwell Chan, their star forward, had scored their only goal with this tactic. However, the speed of the other team was wearing them down slightly faster than usual.

Louis walked back toward the stands. His sisters and parents were waiting near the gate, chatting excitedly.

“You're doing so well, Lou!” Lottie yelled to him.

“Yeah, thanks, Lots,” Louis said.

“Sweetie,” his mother said. “We’re so proud. And Niall’s doing well, too.”

Louis glanced over at Niall, who was being dead-lifted by James Turner and was flailing his arms. Louis scanned the crowd, hoping to find Harry, and hoping against everything that he could get him to come say hi.

“Do you want us to wait for you after the game?” Louis’s mom asked him.

“No, I've got my car,” Louis said. “I might take a few guys home. We’ll get a bite to eat, afterward.”

“Call if you need anything,” his mother said.

“All right, mom. I have to get back,” Louis said.

As his family turned away, he saw Harry loping down the steps toward him. Louis held his breath. Harry was wearing a sweatshirt with the strings tied, over a T-shirt and his signature black jeans. For some reason, Louis found the ties unbearably cute, almost as if Harry dressed up for him—a gesture of formality. He knew it wasn't true, but he could dream.

Harry bounded over to where Louis was standing.

“Where are my cheese fries?” He grinned cheekily. Louis couldn't believe how such a simple question could make him soar off the ground.

“Do you really want some?” Louis asked. “I can get some for you. Seriously. But I think we’re about to start.”

“No, idiot. I'm here to see you play,” Harry smiled. “You look good in your uniform.”

Louis wanted to put his hikers on and camp in those fucking dimples. They were some kind of black magic. Louis put his index finger through the fence and tickled Harry’s chest through his sweatshirt.

“How am I so far?”

Harry squirmed away, hands up to protect himself. He grabbed Louis’s finger and held it. “So so, I guess,” he said. Louis made an unhappy face. “Come on, Lou,” Harry laughed. “You're a star.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Louis said, softly. The world dimmed around him. Noises quieted and floated away. His heart was about to burst. He couldn't talk.

Louis heard his coach call his name, and then Niall say, “Lou! Need you over here!” He turned his head.

Just then, a guy— _the_ _guy_ —came up behind Harry. He was awfully handsome, Louis thought, manly and rugged. His hair was cut short on the sides, with bronze-colored curls on top. He had a warm and magnificent smile, too. Louis blinked rapidly. The guy put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He sipped soft drink in his other hand, and then passed it to Harry.

“Hey, you must be Louis,” he said to Louis. “I'm Harry’s friend, Liam.”

“Hi, Liam,” Louis said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Thanks for coming.”

Harry was playing with the straw from the cup as he sipped, chewing it with his front teeth. His full lips pursed around the straw. Louis tore his eyes away.

Liam was smiling. “Yeah! No problem. Harry told me all about school spirit.”

Why did Louis feel so proprietary toward Harry’s fucking shoulder? It wasn't Louis’s property. But Louis wished he could reach through the fence and, kind of, flick Liam’s hand off.

“I'm really sorry,” Louis said. “Have we met? I'm embarrassed I don’t know.”

“No, no,” Liam said. “I'm a friend from Harry’s other school. Before he transferred here. But we hate West High too, so it's all good. I hope you win, man. Kick their asses.”

“You and me both, pal,” Louis said. “Are you,” he gestured to them, “like, good friends?”

Harry turned to Liam. “You want a chili dog, Li? Louis says he can get some for us, on the house.” Harry turned half-way toward Louis and winked. “Cheese fries, too.”

Liam turned to face Harry and lifted his eyebrows, as if to say, _Nice!_

Harry cackled out a laugh, then sipped his drink and looked at Louis. Louis noticed the stadium lights bringing out the sparkle in Harry’s eyes, his pale, long lashes framing them with a ghostly glow. Harry’s dimples were etched by shadows. The angle of his jaw stood out in sharp relief.

“Lou!” Niall shouted from the sidelines again, more urgently. “Need you!”

Louis turned quickly, and then back again. His face flushed a deep red.

“I—I—um—gotta. I—the second half’s gonna start,” he stammered. Louis’s eyes were big and pupils were wide open, darkly eclipsing the blue in his eyes. His mouth felt dry, and an uncomfortable feeling shot through his body. He felt his legs weaken under him.

“Well, we’ll be cheering for you,” Liam said with energy. “You could probably hear Harry from way up there. Nearly broke my eardrums.”

“Rah rah!” Harry yelled, raising one hand. He poked Louis’s shirt through the fence. His long finger dug in and gave a tender swirl, pulling Louis’s shirt forward. “Go get them, Lou.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis said. He swallowed hard. He pulled back, freeing himself from Harry’s hand, stumbling a little backing up.

Louis turned around and jogged to join his teammates, focused only on moving his legs and feet. When he turned around, they were gone.  
 

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, it's gonna be so lit!” Niall shouted. “State, here we come!”

They had won 2-1, in overtime, with a goal that Niall had scored off a penalty kick. It was a hard-fought win. The team was both overtired and euphoric, and Coach let them wallow in victory with collective abandon.

They were celebrating at McDermott’s Pizza, where they always went for postgame dinners. It was the only place in town open until 11 PM on a Saturday night. Pizzas were on the table, along with drinks and cheesy bread. It was the one time the players could be off their diets.

“Coach, what do you think of our chances?” Stan asked.

“We got almost all our guys coming back from last year,” Coach said, “except Hathaway and White, who graduated. So I think our chances are good.” A few guys whooped and whistled.

Louis nudged Niall.

“Do you need a ride, Ni?”

“You taking off, Louis? You hardly touched the pizza. All right?”

“Yeah, I'm just tired,” Louis said. “Think I'm gonna go.”

James overheard their conversation and leaned in. “Niall, man, I'll take you home.”

“It's no problem,” Louis said. “I mean, I can stick around a bit longer if you want to stay.”

Niall must have noticed how Louis looked. He was jittery and pale, and his feet were tapping restlessly. He was unusually quiet for his team’s just having won the regional tournament.

Niall looked from Louis to James. James was on his third slice of pizza and laughing at one of Stan’s jokes, barely holding the food in his mouth. He took a big gulp of his drink.

“I'm all right,” Niall said. “Go home, man. Get some rest. State in two weeks!”

“Two weeks!” Louis put both hands up to high-five Niall. Then he put on his jacket and headed out to the car.

Louis didn't know why it bothered him so much. He ran over the short conversation in his mind. Harry had been at his game, as promised. He lived up to his promise. He was charming and beautiful, as always, and he brought spirit.

And it was true. Once Liam pointed it out to him, he could hear Harry shouting his name from the bleachers. _Go, Louis! Go, Tomlinson!_ It seemed like a stone hurled straight at him, straight from his ears into his chest. Every minute on the field, he could feel Harry’s eyes watching him. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking.

After the game, Louis had tried to find Harry in the crowd, but he couldn't. The team crowded around him, screaming and laughing in celebration. Louis also looked for the tall guy with bronze curls, Liam, and couldn't find him either. His family gathered around to congratulate him. He hugged his sisters, his mother, and her husband. He forgot, for a moment, the sting in his heart. Soon, he was being dragged away to have pizza.

Louis thought about the way Liam’s arm rested easily on Harry’s shoulder, how comfortable Harry had looked in that position. There was definitely an intimacy and ease in their closeness. But how close were they? The question nagged at Louis. The way Harry addressed Liam was familiar, maybe even more than friendly.

 _Starboy_. Louis remembered the sarcastic way Harry used this nickname. But Harry hadn’t known him very well then, right? They were different now.

Louis unlocked the car, got in, and put on his seatbelt. He automatically backed his car up, drove out of the parking lot, and headed toward home. It was past closing time for most businesses. The city center was dark and quiet.

Louis remembered the stubborn way Harry had refused a ride, that time that Louis and Niall had passed him on the road. He could still see Harry’s tenacious, rebellious expression as he dragged the heavy bundle of metallic pieces behind him. Now that he knew what all the metal was for, he felt, a bit, like someone feeling an elephant’s trunk and declaring it a snake. How obtuse he had been! He had called it junk. But it wasn't, at all. It was Harry working out his angels and demons.

Louis remembered his visit to Harry’s basement studio, the unbearable feeling as he realized that Harry was all alone. How he had wanted to pull him close! To make sure he was cared for. To let Harry know he mattered, he was loved.

But the Harry who came to his game cast all these assumptions in doubt. Game-Harry was brilliant and warm, secure and confident. He was loved. He had friends. Maybe even a boyfriend. Louis felt foolish.

Or, perhaps Harry wasn't even into guys, Louis thought. Louis had come out to Harry, but Harry had said nothing in return. He was cryptic in that exasperatingly attractive way, appealing to whomever he was talking to. He was a flirt! When Harry turned his gaze on Louis, Louis felt simultaneously naked and aroused.

That was it, wasn't it?

Louis was jealous of Liam. What he felt was not platonic.

He hadn’t ever disliked Harry. His feelings had never been intensely personal, like Harry’s had been. But now they were, and he didn't know what to do with them.

Harry had seeped under his skin and nestled into a private place. And once Louis felt this, he couldn’t _unfeel_ it.

Louis was halfway home when he decided to turn the car around. He knew where he had to go. The car rattled down the road in the direction of Forest Park.

Louis remembered how Harry held his finger when he’d tickled him through the fence. A spark of electricity had licked through his hand and up his arm. Why did Louis tickle him, in the first place? He had been craving for a touch. Louis shuddered to think how transparent he must have seemed.

And then, Harry had curved his finger through the fabric of Louis’s shirt and pulled him closer. Louis bit the inside of his cheeks at that thought. The warmth spread down his body, into his thighs. He gripped the steering wheel.

The darkness of the woods seemed impenetrable. To add to his challenges, fog began to roll across the road. Louis couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him.

He negotiated the hairpin turns of the road slowly. Thankfully, there were no other cars, and he could drive as slowly as he needed to. The speed of the car was running counter to the heart hammering in his chest, his insides caged in fire and his hands like cold, dead fish gripping the steering wheel. Finally, he spotted the small mailbox at the side of the road, and made the turn up the driveway.

At the end of the ascent up the driveway, Louis saw the house standing in absolute darkness. This was probably the one place in the whole city where one could see stars.

He peered at the house. There was a faint light in one of the windows upstairs.

Louis turned off the car engine and sat in the dark, feeling a sense of weightlessness as fog crept up around him. He rolled down the car window. Everything was quiet and still in the October night. The light in the window hadn't wavered. There were still no lights downstairs.

Louis sat in his car, remembering the beauty of Harry’s smile, how it transformed his face and made him seem younger. He smiled so rarely, but, Louis thought, he was smiling more nowadays.

Louis remembered the warmth of Harry’s skin as he pulled him in for a hug. He was slightly taller than Louis, his long legs seeming to extend forever, their lean and muscular shape unmistakable in those skinny jeans.

Louis felt a warmth in his belly, the tease of an erection in his groin as he sat there. He pushed his groin with the palm of his hand. Instead of fading, his cock twitched with the stimulation.

Louis remembered the way Harry’s cheeks felt when he had kissed it, smooth and soft. And he remembered Harry’s smell. It was warm and salty, with a hint of sweetness. It was intoxicating to him. He wanted more.

Louis gazed at the light in the window and wondered what Harry was doing. What was he thinking about? He put his hand in the car door, about to open it, and then stopped.

What was he even doing here? It was past 11 PM.

He remembered what Harry had said about their agreement. _Preferably you'll pretend like I don't exist, and vice versa._

Louis didn't care about the agreement anymore.

Harry existed for him. More than existed.

His right hand absent-mindlessly wandered to his groin, where the pressure of his palm woke his cock. He passed his palm over the material of his track suit. His cock filled with blood, straightening like a dagger and pointing to one side.

Louis thought of Harry’s wide and brilliantly seductive green eyes, the straight line of his nose that led to his full, beautifully shaped mouth, the cruel curve of it as he talked. He wondered what it might feel like to kiss Harry. He clenched his buttocks as his cock stood to attention, aroused and wet now, at the tip.

Louis pushed his cock down, turned his head toward the window and inhaled the cold, moist air. The thought of Harry, just a few hundred yards away, confused him and turned him on. Just why was he here? To tell Harry he had a crush on him? To act like a jealous—whatever he was?

Louis put his hand to the car keys to start the ignition. He shouldn't be here. Harry could come out at any moment. Louis should go home and jerk off, and forget about Harry. The thought of masturbating to Harry made him even harder. Louis roughly pushed himself down with both hands, keeping them there, both suppressing his desire and inflaming it.

The car would start, and then Harry would hear it in the silence. Surely he had heard it pull up? Maybe he was waiting for Louis to ring the doorbell. Maybe he was with Liam.

The thought tortured Louis.

Maybe Liam was kissing Harry right now, under blankets in the chill of the night. Louis saw Harry’s half-closed eyes, his chin slightly tilted, lips pillowy and open, waiting for the first contact.

Louis saw himself cup his hand around Harry’s chin to pull his face closer, the first tender slide of their lips, the taste of Harry’s mouth as he opened the lips with his tongue.

Harry was a puzzle. Louis wanted to solve him.

Through the fabric of his joggers, Louis traced the line of his cock, stroking it lightly, dragging out his pleasure. His mind was filled with Harry. Harry bewitched him and there was no going back.

He thumbed his tip through the fabric, feeling the wetness. A few light strokes of the tip made him wetter. A quarter-sized dampness seeped through.

Louis reached into his joggers and laid his palm over the loose skin of his hardened cock. He thought of Harry, of kissing him, feeling the sweet warmth of his body next to him. Imagining how Harry would feel in his hands, the way his cock might twitch and come alive, Louis began to stroke himself, dragging the skin over the blood-swelled prick.

He imagined the spring of Harry’s pretty cock, of stroking Harry through an orgasm, watching Harry’s gorgeous face contort with ecstasy as he came. And then the unbearably erotic image of Harry shooting his come onto Louis’s body.

Louis swore. He stroked himself furiously now. He felt the familiar coil of heat traveling from his balls into his cock. Louis gently passed over his slit and pushed down on the tip. Harry could come find him now, just like this, jerking himself to a messy fury in his driveway. It shamed and turned Louis on, in equal measure; he should stop. But he was so, so close. He could feel the contractions coiling in the pit of his belly, ready to unfurl.

And then, with the will power of a long-distance runner, his hand stilled. Louis stopped just as he was about to come, and pulled his hand out of his pants. He breathed hard, in and out, perched on the cliff. He was lightheaded with the need to come.

The feeling of being close, yet not finishing, was terrible. It left a terrible, Harry-shaped void at the pit of his belly. He probably couldn’t come down for half an hour. He would have to drive all over town before he was calm enough to go home.

Louis whispered Harry’s name, as if Harry could hear him, from the house. He was half wishing that Harry could hear him, somehow. The other half was mortified at his frail and tender hope. How could he even think Harry would feel anything back?

Harry, Harry, Harry.

Harry enthralled him. He held Louis prisoner in every corner of his own mind.

But Louis was an athlete. He knew about the good struggle. He knew what it was to play harder when the score was down, to run through disappointment, apathy, and pain. He knew how to play the long game, to adapt to each play as it changed, keeping his eyes on the prize.

Harry was the championship game. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how Louis would suffer, Harry was worth the while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist has been updated here. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/salad_in_the_wind/playlist/0Vripk8yQiphWwdCwxVMTf


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

In school on Monday, Louis made a mental note to find Harry’s locker. He couldn't get Harry out of his head. _Like a lovesick noob,_ he thought.

In Industrial Arts, Mr. Leeds was telling them about their last assignment for the semester. They were going to design a series of ads for a product of their own choosing. Louis barely paid any attention to him.

“This is where you get creative,” Mr. Leeds was saying. “Remember your questions about original design?” His eyes engaged Julie, who nodded. “I want you to think about ways of capturing the essence of your message, what you want the viewer to think about your product.”

Niall tapped Louis in the elbow.

“Earth to Louis,” he said. “Where are you?”

Louis was watching Harry out of the corner of his eyes. Harry was focused on Mr. Leeds. Louis couldn't help noticing the way Harry’s dimple was barely there at rest, but sunk in with little movements from the corner of his mouth. He noticed the way Harry’s shirt curved around the slight bulge above his waist band, leading to the long, folded angles of his legs. He was close enough to touch.

Suddenly, Harry turned to Louis, and winked at him.

Louis’s face flushed a dark pink. He turned away as if stung.

“Nothing, Ni,” he turned to Niall. “Just thinking about the tournament.”

“Are we running sprints today?”

Louis’s head was a jumble. He snuck a look at Harry, who stared straight ahead with a smug smile. Harry’s hands were folded just under his chin, his elbows resting on the drafting table.

“Yeah, uh,” Louis scrambled. “Monday, so sprints, yeah. Then our usual…” He trailed off, staring into space.

“Mile,” Niall finished for him. “Our usual mile, Lou. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Shut up, Niall,” Louis said with embarrassment. “Trying to focus here.”

Niall shook his head in disgust. “Have you even made practice plans this week?”

“Shit,” Louis apologized. “I forgot. There's just been a lot on my mind. I'm gonna do it later today, I promise.”

“Just try to get it done before next Saturday,” Niall said, sarcastically. “After that, practice plans’ll be pretty useless.”

”Mm. Yeah, okay,” Louis answered. He missed the disgusted look Niall gave him. 

After class, Louis gathered his things quickly and left with Niall. He could feel Harry’s curious eyes on him. He glanced back to catch Harry’s expression, but by then Harry was talking to Julie. Reluctantly and nervously, Louis left.

When school ended for the day, Louis threw things into his backpack, grabbed his workout bag, and ran to the other part of the lockers, where Harry’s locker was. He tried to look nonchalant, slowing his walk down when he got closer. There were only a couple of senior girls there; Harry was nowhere to be found. The girls were conversing amongst themselves, gathering their things together. They greeted Louis and then left.

Louis sighed in frustration. He had been waiting all day. And now it was time to go to practice. He threw his bags on the ground and headed to the bathroom.

As he opened the door, he saw Harry washing his hands at the sink. His head scarf trailed down the back of his head. Louis stopped in his tracks. A moment of panic seized him. He almost wanted to turn around and leave.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry looked up from the sink. “I was looking for you.”

Louis froze at the sound of his voice. A cold fire ran from his neck down to his toes.

“You were?”

“Yeah. Went to your locker earlier, but couldn't find you.”

Harry dried his hands with paper towels and walked over to Louis.

“Wh—why?” Louis stammered.

Harry walked around Louis, went to the door, and turned the lock.

“Harry,” Louis said. “What—“ He felt as if all the air in his chest was sucked away, as if it were a cavity of empty space with one lone heart pulsing like a captured animal.

Harry circled back to Louis. His height loomed over Louis. Unconsciously, Louis backed up slowly, until his heels hit the side wall of the bathroom, and he could go no further. His eyes were locked with Harry’s, which were a dark, turbulent green.

Harry put both hands on the wall, one on each side of Louis’s head. He leaned his body in. The gap between them was barely big enough for a butter knife. Louis felt the waves of heat rise between them, the warmth traveling with embarrassing speed to his groin.

“Is it okay?” Harry asked.

“Is what okay?”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathed shallowly. “I guess so.”

Harry smiled at Louis, and then closed his eyes and leaned in, touching his lips to Louis’s. He kissed Louis softly, then again, and again, until Louis’s lips woke up. Louis tilted his head and kissed Harry back. He had imagined what this kiss would be like, but _God_ , it was so much better. Harry kissed with purpose, and he was such a good kisser. Louis was being seduced.

He liked it.

Louis’s hand traveled up to hold Harry’s triceps. Harry leaned in more and let his body rest on Louis’s, intimate, heavy, and comfortable. Harry kissed Louis again, holding his lips, and then, with a gentle pressure, licked them with the tip of his tongue. Louis opened and licked him back. Their tongues were dancing with each other, chasing and tangling. Harry tasted sweet. Louis wanted more.

Louis wrapped his arm around Harry’s back and pulled him closer. He could feel the line of Harry’s body from his sides all the way down to his hips. He felt the muscularity of Harry’s lower back, the hardness around the lower spine. Then he felt the hardness in the groin, and it wasn't from himself.

“Harry,” Louis whispered.

“All right?” Harry asked, not pulling away. His voice was deep and raspy.

Louis slowly and intentionally pushed his hips forward. “Yeah, it's all right.”

“You're very pretty, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said. He brushed a stray hair from Louis’s face, then let the back of his fingers trail down Louis’s cheek.

“Thanks,” Louis said. “And you..."

“What?”

“I mean, look at you, Harry.” Louis touched the tip of Harry’s nose, then swirled a finger into his dimple and trailed down to his chin. “No exaggeration, but you're a piece of art.”

“That's enough talking,” Harry said. He let his hand linger on Louis’s chest, and gently dragged them down to his waistband. He pulled Louis forward, and kissed Louis once more, leaning his body in comfortably. He pressed his left thigh against Louis so that what Louis felt was unmistakable.

Louis groaned softly, an involuntary moan of desire. He instantly froze.

“What?” Harry teased.

“Um, I didn't say—“ Louis shrank back. “I swear—“

“Hey, I want to hear you,” Harry said. “It's hot. Come on, Lou. Do it again.” He leaned in and licked Louis’s jaw. Louis shuddered. Harry’s lips travelled up the jaw until he reached Louis’s ear. Then he kissed the skin behind Louis’s ear, sucked on it and kissed it, tiny puffs of cotton candy.

“God," Louis exhaled, softly. "Shit." 

“You like it?”

“No one’s ever done that before,” Louis said. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh. Okay,” Harry said. He straightened up, stroked Louis’s neck just above his collar bone. He was smiling at Louis’s reaction, at the confusion that his actions had caused. He kissed Louis chastely on the forehead. “Better now?”

“No,” Louis said. He grabbed Harry’s shirt by the waist and pulled him close. “I want you, I want—“

His eyes implored Harry, who laughed out loud. Harry pushed himself against Louis, smashing the air out of him. Then he kissed Louis, long and dirty, probing him with his tongue, licking and sucking on it, biting and destroying his lips. Louis felt underwater. His limbs felt as if they were floating in liquid, and he had no idea which way was up. He had to surface to breathe again, but the climb was delicious. 

When they pulled apart, Louis said, “Damn it.”

“What, little one?”

“I'm missing soccer practice.”

“So what?” Harry said. “They can do it themselves.” He squeezed Louis’s waist, traced his fingers under the waistband of his joggers.

“No, Harry,” Louis said, squirming out from Harry’s frame. “I have to go. Um. Thanks for the—uh—“

“Thanks?” Harry lifted an eyebrow. “Am I a vending machine?”

“No, of course not,” Louis said, suddenly shy.

He wavered at the door, unsure what to do. Kissing Harry was everything he had dreamed of and more, and now he was the one to stop it. It was crazy. But everyone would complain if he didn't show up. It wasn't fair to the team. And he knew that he looked like a kissed-out mess, his eyes dilated, his lips puffy and chewed, his cheeks flushed. He could feel the heat in his cheeks like two flaming apples pinned there by burning arrows.

“Hmph,” Harry folded his arms and pretended to pout.

“Harry,” Louis came back and held Harry’s hand. “I loved it." He kissed the tip of Harry's chin, feeling the soft ruffle of whiskers. "I am so looking forward to kissing you some more.”

“Are we going to?” Harry asked. “Kiss some more.”

“Oh God, yeah,” Louis laughed and sighed. “You’re the best kisser I've ever had.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Louis said. Then he added, softly, “And I want to—you know.”

“What?”

“Make noises with you,” Louis said.

Harry cackled loudly.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he said, “I want to hear your noises.”

“It's a date, then,” Louis joked.

Even as he said it, he was embarrassed to think of going on a date with Harry, or… more. He wanted it, and was unsure of it at the same time. Louis had never done anything like this with anyone. His head was so turned on, so beyond happy and stimulated, it was like diving through a wormhole, at the end of which was something unstoppable.

Yet it was somewhat scary, Louis admitted. Louis wondered whether Harry had ever had sex before. He wondered a lot of things, but there just wasn't time, or composure, or oxygen to think anything through, since all his blood had pooled in one place.

Suddenly he was ready for the simplicity of soccer, the straightforward adrenaline, the shooting, muscular pain from the lactic acid in his thighs and shins as he sprinted down the field, the fast mental calculations to get the ball past the goalie.

He unlocked the bathroom door.

“Okay,” he said, looking back at Harry. “Bye.”

Harry came forward and nibbled him on the cheeks. He cupped Louis’s chin and tilted it up, and held it still as he licked the lips slowly, ending with a slight bite to the lower lip. Louis stood as still as a statue, his skin tingling. Finally, Harry kissed Louis twice in quick succession, like a signature, or a postscript.

“Off you go, handsome. Play well.”

Louis pulled at his pants, and struggled to open the door. He shifted again, tucking himself down, adjusting.

“Look what you did,” he accused Harry.

The ring of Harry’s laughter stayed with Louis as he walked down the hallway, toward the soccer fields.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Louis was coming down the hallway, toward the athletic lockers, when he saw Julie waiting at the end. She was checking her phone, her thumb scrolling through and occasionally clicking on the screen. When Louis came closer, she looked up at him.

“Hi, Jules,” Louis said. “’Sup?”

“Louis,” Julie said. She clicked her phone off and put it away. “Going to practice?”

Louis raised his hand to gesture toward the lockers. “Yeah, just about.”

“Oh,” Julie paused. “Hey, Louis, is it okay if I talk to you?”

“Sure,” Louis said. He tilted his head. “What's going on?”

“Can we, um,” Julie looked down the hall, “go somewhere else? Where it's more private?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis said, curious. “Let’s go in Coach’s office. He won't be there now.”

He led the way down the corridor between the girls’ and boys’ locker rooms, toward the warren of tiny offices used by the athletic coaches. Plaques lined the hallway from years of athletic competitions. A trophy case held a variety of athletic trophies from small to large, engraved with the school’s name, the sport, and the year of the competition. The state championship trophies for soccer, however, weren't in these back hallways. They were displayed in a large glass case near the front office, visible to everyone who came in to the school.

Louis opened a door on the left. They went in.

The office had a small desk and a few chairs pushed to the walls. Papers and notebooks lay scattered across the desk. On the shelf were a few team photos, and some framed photos of the Coach’s family.

“So, what's the big secret, Jules?” Louis asked lightheartedly.

Julie put her backpack on the ground. Her hands came up to her chest, and she intertwined her fingers.

“Louis,” she said, “I know you're sort of friends with Harry now.”

Louis cleared his throat, and shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“I'm not sure how to say this in a way that doesn't sound weird,” she said.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there's something you should know, about Harry,” she said. “Not about Harry himself, but, like, about his circumstances.”

“God,” Louis said, “he’s a British spy, isn't he? He's actually twenty-three years old, infiltrating our school system to get soccer secrets. I knew it! That would explain the creepy stare of his.”

“No,” Julie smiled. “Good one, though.”

“Then what?”

“Well, Harry lives by himself. Did you know that?”

“Oh,” Louis exhaled. “I thought it was something bad. Yeah, I knew about that ages ago.” He chuckled. “His parents are artists, right?”

“Well, yes,” Julie said slowly, “and no. I mean, yes, they're artists, but it's not that simple.” She pulled up a chair with its back facing forward, and straddled the seat to sit down. “His dad is Des Styles. You know, the famous sculptor?”

“No idea who he is,” Louis said. “Harry mentioned him once, I think.”

“His work is in museums all over the world,” Julie said. “I guess he has a reputation as being kind of a recluse? Harry’s mom, Anne, is a painter. They met when his dad came to teach at the art institute where Anne was studying, as a college student.”

Louis dragged a chair from the wall and sat down.

“Anyway,” Julie continued, “they never got married. After Harry was born, they lived in the U.K. and worked near each other, so Harry could visit his dad from time to time. But when Harry was in middle school, his parents separated. His mother moved them here, where she had a teaching position at the college.”

“Seventh grade,” Louis said. “He was the new kid.”

“Yeah. I think,” Julie hesitated, “it was petty rough on him. Losing contact with his dad, no friends, totally new school system. With his British accent, you know, he couldn't blend in.”

 _And terrible school mates_ , Louis thought.

“Harry changed schools,” Louis said, tentatively. “Did he ever say why?”

“Harry doesn't talk about it much,” Julie said. “But I think he was pretty unhappy. He didn't do very well for a few years. It was hard.”

“But now he's okay, right?” Louis asked.

Julie considered the question. She brought her finger to her lips. “It depends on how you define ‘okay,’” she said. “I mean, he has friends now.” She tapped herself lightly. “And he has his art. Have you seen it?”

“The metal sculptures?” Louis asked. “They’re incredible. I had no idea that was what he did. Does anyone else know?”

“No one but a few friends. And his mother, obviously.” Julie looked down.

Louis understood the implications of Julie’s words. Anne knew about Harry, the way he lived. She was in contact with him.

“But where's his mom now? Why isn't she with Harry?” Louis asked. “I saw her picture once, at his house. He looks a lot like her.”

“She left, a year ago,” Julie said. “Partly because her teaching position was eliminated at the college. And partly because she met someone else, another artist.”

“What?!” Louis stood up. He paced to the desk and back again. “That's bullshit! You can't leave your kid, your underage kid who can't even drive, to fend for himself. Not when he's having these—emotional issues. What kind of mother would do that? Why hasn't the legal system taken over?”

“Louis,” Julie said, “I think it's complicated. I think she wanted Harry to come with her, but he wouldn't. He refused.”

“But why?”

“He couldn't start all over again,” Julie said. “Over time, Harry found a way to parent himself, I guess. That's just—my theory, you know?”

She stopped and looked to Louis for his reaction. Louis nodded his chin and prompted her to continue.

“Harry uses his art like a parent. It's something that's always there for him. It’s reliable. It nourishes him and teaches him. It’s bigger than him, and more beautiful, and more appreciated by other people.”

Louis tilted his head and furrowed his brows, considering these words. The theory made sense, but seemed so abstract and—well, _psychological_ , or something—he couldn't really get it.

“But at the same time,” Julie was saying, “art abandoned him. Art was the reason he was born.” The words sank like stones. “Art was the reason his parents fell in love, and art was the reason both of his parents left him. It's pretty heartless, you know? Art cares _only_ about itself. And that's the lesson Harry’s learned. Art is more important than he is. Art is his substitute parent, but like his real parents, it's both good and bad. You see?”

“How do you know all this?” Louis asked. “Did he tell you?”

“He doesn't need to,” Julie said. She put her elbow on the back of the chair and turned her cheek to rest on her forearm. “I mean, look at his art. They’re things he makes from discarded scraps, Louis. They're huge, beautiful, dark monsters.”

“Like his parents,” Louis said, slowly. He took in a deep breath. Louis paced to and fro, rubbing his chin.

He thought about the one thing in Harry’s studio that was not huge or abstract, the small box with the meticulous locks, with the aquamarine crystal inside. The only thing in Harry’s studio that was whole and functional was a representation of himself, and inside of it, he was Air.

“He's scared, Louis,” Julie said. “He doesn't say it, but I think he is.” Louis waited for her to continue. “A few days ago, Harry mentioned that Anne was coming back to town.”

“Why?” Louis asked. “She left him.” _She has no right to claim him,_ he thought.

“Well, I mean, she's still his mother, no matter what. And I think that's why he’s worried. Any time she comes, there's a lot of tension. It's not good for him. Everything comes to the surface, and he can't pretend like it's okay.”

“Does he love her?”

“Does she love him?” Julie asked. “I don't know. Maybe Harry doesn't even know. Whether, how, or how much.”

“So you're saying, maybe it would be better if his mom was out of his life.”

“I don't know the right answer, Louis.” Julie raised her head to look sincerely at Louis. “You seem to be a good friend. He looks happy when he's with you.” Louis perked up and straightened his shoulders. “He doesn't let many people in.”

“He's—“ Louis stopped himself.

What was he about to say? He has an irresistible pull on me. He's funny. He’s a beautiful mystery. He's so sexy that I can't contain myself around him. He’s brilliant and stubborn and terribly sad. He’s mine.

“He's a special person,” Louis said.

“Anyway,” Julie stood up. “I know it's none of my business, but I kind of worry about him. It makes me feel better if someone else is worrying with me, you know?”

“Shit, Julie,” Louis said. “This is a lot.”

“Yeah,” Julie said. “I'm sorry to dump it on you like this. But I thought—you might help.”

“No, no,” Louis protested. “I'm really glad you did. It gives me a lot to think about.” Julie picked her backpack from the ground.

Louis pivoted toward Julie, and said, “Hey, Jules, can I ask one more question?”

“Yeah, Lou?”

Louis licked his lip and bowed his head, and then fidgeted with his hand.

"Do you—um… Have you ever talked to Harry about his friend, Liam?”

"Hmm,” Julie paused. “Harry’s mentioned Liam a few times. He's from his previous school, I think? The one he transferred from.”

“Do you know whether—“ Louis paused, trying to give nothing away. “Do you know if they're good friends?”

"I know sometimes Harry stays over Liam’s house,” Julie said. “He's mentioned it. I've never met Liam, but Harry seems to think he's a good guy.” Julie tilted her head. “Why do you ask, Lou?”

“I met him at the soccer game,” Louis said. “Harry seemed to be very close to him. So I—I mean, I guess, I'm happy he has another person to count on.”

Julie nodded her assent, but looked on curiously at Louis. Louis kept his head bowed and his face neutral. He forced himself to take some calm, even breaths.

“Oh, hey!” Julie said, suddenly.

“What, Julie?”

“Speaking of which, good luck on the game next Saturday!” Julie said. “Three time’s the charm, right?”

“I sure hope so,” Louis said, brightening. “We’ve been working our asses off. And for some of our guys, it'll be their first state tournament. So I'm really excited for them.”

Julie gazed at Louis’s enthusiastic features. She weighed his air of optimism, his welcome of rigorous athletic challenge. He was fearless.

He's the right person to trust, she thought.

“Hey, Louis.”

“What?”

“You’re a good person. I hope you know that. Harry has a good friend.” She touched Louis on the arm. “I'm really glad we had this talk.”

“Let’s wait until after the game, okay?” Louis laughed. “I can be really mean after a loss.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Julie said, walking toward the door. “I'll see ya.”

“Okay. See you, Julie,” Louis said. “And hey! Thanks. You're a good friend, too.”

“ _Ciao, bellissimo_ ,” she said, walking away.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Harry studied himself in the mirror. After his shower, he had shaved, trimmed his nails, trimmed the hairs in his armpits and pubic area. He put on deodorant and a small amount of cologne, an expensive luxury, used sparingly. He put on a black dress shirt, opened at the collar, and a pair of skinny jeans which weren't ripped at the knees. He tied a black scarf around his hair and studied himself.

The shirt was fitted enough to outline the narrowing silhouette of his rib cage as it tapered down to his trim waist. He unbuttoned one more button. The shirt hung down long enough to cover the tight bulge in the crotch of the jeans. He hoped there would be no mishaps tonight… except at the right time, maybe.

Despite his best effort, he was soon sweating through his shirt from nerves. He paced from one corner of his room to the other. Looking out his bedroom window, he noticed that the driveway was pitch black, and it was only 5:30 PM. He ran downstairs and flipped on the lights flanking the front door, only to realize that one of the lights was out. Oh well. Louis will have to negotiate up the front walk half-illuminated.

He tried to imagine where Louis would take him for their first date. Louis had said to dress casually, but Harry had no idea what that meant. And their city was a small one, where same-sex couples were seldom seen publicly, let alone two teenage boys. Harry had to admit some nervousness about being seen with Louis. Sure, everything was hot and fun in a locked school bathroom. What would happen outside of it?

He saw the swerve of car lights piercing the windows. Louis was here. He studied himself in the mirror once more, and then put on his black boots. The doorbell rang.

Harry ran to get the door. When he opened it, Louis was standing at the threshold, holding a small bouquet of flowers.

His normally wind-blown hair was brushed back into a high quiff, showing off his sapphire-colored eyes. Harry noticed how curved and long Louis’s eyelashes were. Every time he blinked, they fluttered in slow motion, as if tiny people were pulling curtains up and down. The one light on the porch cast his features into deep relief, making him seem a bit of a mystery man.

Louis was wearing a navy sweater and dark navy pants, with loafers and no socks. The finely knit sweater showed off his chiseled, athletic chest. During Louis’s regional championship game, Harry had studied this chest as it heaved up and down while Louis ran on the pitch. Honestly, Harry didn't care if Louis were dying of breathlessness, as long as he kept running and taking deep breaths like that.

It was the selfishness of the artist talking, Harry rationalized. Beauty was always above human comfort. Suffering was art.

During that game, Harry had to bite his lips while Louis stood bent over, his hands on his knees, his muscular and toned ass outlined by his gossamer soccer shorts. Harry was a big fan of soccer shorts, especially on Louis. He wondered what the Ass would feel like writhing under his body. He was so far gone that Liam had to ask him three times if he wanted anything from the concession stand, finally yelling into his ears.

Right now, Louis definitely looked good enough to eat.

He smelled pretty good, too. Not that Harry minded Louis’s normal smell. He actually liked smelling sweaty, mid-workout, dirty Louis. He had liked Louis’s damp saltiness, his masculine musk at the game. But today Louis smelled like flowers and the ocean, which was fine, too.

Louis held out his bouquet. Harry took it and made a point to inhale deeply. He laughed at Louis’s chivalry, his attentiveness. He really looked so cute and nervous.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” Harry asked, gesturing behind himself. “My parents aren't home. We could totally mess around.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Louis.

“Are you allowed to have boys over by themselves?” Louis asked.

“Whatever,” Harry shrugged. “What mom dooesn’t know won't kill her.” He reached out to hold one of Louis’s hands. His lips curved in a mischievous smile.

“Harry Styles,” Louis said mordantly. “Is this, like, a common thing for you?”

Harry actually honked out a laugh. “No,” he said. “I've never had anyone over. Just you.”

“Wrong,” Louis said, serious. “Not even me. Because I'm a gentleman, and I'm going to treat you like one, too.”

“Not even a kiss?”

“Oh, all right,” Louis theatrically rolled his eyes. “One kiss.”

Louis stepped forward. He sank into Harry’s embrace as he closed his arm around Harry’s neck. Their noses bumped into each other. They giggled at the awkwardness, and then adjusted their faces and sank into a luscious, robust kiss. Harry tasted Louis’s tongue and then rubbed his nose against Louis’s. He kissed Louis tenderly, in slow succession, one after the other. Their bodies felt warm and comfortable together. Louis sighed.

“Come in?” Harry asked again.

“No,” Louis said, pushing their bodies apart slightly. “Our reservation is waiting for us, and there's no way we can be late.”

“Come on,” Harry said. “No restaurant _can't_ wait, Louis. Where are you taking us?”

“You’ll see,” Louis said. “It's a surprise. And by the way, would you mind doing up one more button?” Louis pointed to the top of Harry’s shirt.

“What?” Harry protested. “This is how I dress, your lordship. Are you slut-shaming me into dressing like some sort of preppy jock? Listen, we artists can't be as tight-assed as you boring athletes.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Louis said. “The _melodrama_. Can you, Harry Styles, just listen to me for once? Please do up one more button. We will have dessert later, but dinner comes first. I promise you.”

Harry looked skeptically at Louis, and then reluctantly buttoned up one of his shirt buttons. He still had three buttons undone, but he felt like a nun.

“You’re still super hot,” Louis reassured him. Harry tilted his head, uncertain. “You are. Trust me on this, okay, babe?”

“What?” Harry reacted, somewhat surprised.

“What what?”

“What did you just call me?”

“Um,” Louis backpedaled. “I said _babe_. I call lots of people _babe_. My sisters, for example. My teammates. It's not—I’m not—“

“Sure, Louis,” Harry said. His green eyes sparkled like distant planets on the horizon. He stepped forward.

Harry cupped his large hands over Louis’s ass and yanked him closer toward himself. Louis’s groin thrust forward. Louis automatically put his hands up on Harry’s chest, and then circled them around Harry’s neck. Louis looked at Harry in surprise, but Harry’s eyes were focused only on his mouth. Harry’s right arm enfolded Louis’s back, like a monster paw, devouring him. Louis felt trapped, in the best way.

Harry hovered his lips over the corner of Louis’s mouth, letting his breath touch Louis’s skin, and then traced his lips down the jaw and skimmed them over the pulsation points in Louis’s neck, ending at the base of his throat. Louis tilted his head back, exposing himself.

Harry licked and sucked the skin there, pulling the skin for a second with his teeth. It was going to bruise. The skin tented to a red point. Harry kissed the redness gently, soothing it with his tongue, laving at the points of pain.

Louis smelled sweet enough for dessert. To be dessert.

“Harry,” Louis sighed. “Jesus.”

“All right,” Harry straightened up. He pulled them apart, slapping Louis in the ass. He laughed at Louis’s bewildered disappointment. “Dessert later. Let’s go, lover.”

For the second time after kissing Harry, Louis had some trouble walking a straight line.  
 


	13. Chapter 13

Louis negotiated the turns out of Harry’s neighborhood and drove toward the city. Harry peeked at him flirtatiously, and Louis smiled, feeling Harry’s eyes. Harry reached over to trail the back of his hand on Louis’s right thigh as he was driving, from his hips downward. Louis’s right hand reached down to intertwine their fingers.

“Where is this mystery place?” Harry asked.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Louis laughed. “It’s the best food in town.”

“Can you give a hint? Is it Stella’s? Ruby and Rose? Is it the Parker Steak House?”

Louis shook his head through all of the suggestions, his eyes crinkled in a merry smile. Soon, they were turning into a residential subdivision. The houses were spaced modestly apart, their lawns flat, colorless stamps in the darkness. Louis turned down a few streets.

“Louis, seriously. Where are we going? Did you forget something?”

Without speaking, Louis pulled into a driveway. The house in front of them was in the traditional French style, with peaked roofs and a pale gray stucco façade. There were a few large pear and maple trees in the yard, their branches bare in the late autumn night. Warm lights lit a pathway up the walk to the front door.

Louis turned off the ignition and angled his body toward Harry.

“Harry,” Louis said, “I'd like you to meet my family.”

Harry’s face was blank for a moment. Then he looked down, his hands curled in his lap. He shifted his feet. Harry cleared his throat but said nothing.

“Harry, is it okay?” Louis asked gently.

“It's our first date,” Harry mumbled. “I’m not sure, Lou.”

Louis reached over and took Harry’s hand, enclosed it in both of his. Harry still wasn't looking at him.

“Are you mad?”

“No, I guess,” Harry said quietly. “You and I—we aren't even—I mean, we don't know each other really.”

“Harry,” Louis said, “you're a lovely person. I like you. A lot. And I'm sure my family will love you.”

“How do you know?”

“They have to do what I say. I’m the captain,” Louis asserted.

Harry chuckled lightly, and then bit his lip and gazed at the window, uncertain. Part of him wanted to meet the Tomlinsons. He had sat behind them during the soccer game. They were loud, vivacious, real. Harry longed to belong with them, in a way, even though they were strangers.

“They don't bite,” Louis continued. “My sisters can be pains in the ass, and my mom tends to mother everyone. But she's the best cook in the city. You’ll never get a bad meal at the Tomlinson home.” Louis studied Harry’s face. He massaged Harry’s hand between his own, rubbed each finger slowly and gently. “And Harry, if you feel uncomfortable at all, we can leave.”

“Of course not,” Harry said, quietly. “That would be awkward.”

“No, it wouldn't,” Louis insisted. “Friends drop by to eat with us all the time, and then they just take off. There's always a minimum of two non-Tomlinson kids at our house at all times. That’s like an unwritten rule, you know? That's what you get with five kids.”

Louis studied Harry’s handsome face. He hoped Harry would go along. It was a lot to ask of him, on a first date, to subject him to the ongoing party that was the Tomlinson-Deakin household.

“Does your mom know that we—“ Harry hesitated.

“That you and I kiss?” Louis laughed. Harry smiled, his face turning red. “Harry, I told her about you, that you're British, and super cute, and that I like you. I think that's all she needs to know. She trusts me.” Then he added, “She's a midwife, you know.”

“Sorry?” Harry expressed confusion. “What do you mean? What does that have to do with me?” 

“Mom educated me on sex when I was ten,” Louis said, “in anatomical detail. She knows pretty much everything a teenage boy would want to know—and made sure I got all my questions answered.” He added, “She knows I like boys. She’s taught me to take the proper precautions, to stay safe, you know?”

“Wow.” Harry’s eyes were still cast downward. His cheeks blossomed like crimson watercolor.

“She’s pretty pro-active when it comes to sex,” Louis said. He stopped suddenly and realized what he was saying, what Harry was thinking. “I mean, of course I don't—not that we—um.” Louis made a rapid gesture between them. “Harry, sorry. I’m not saying we have to—“

“No, of course not,” Harry said. They looked away from each other. Considering the way they had already kissed and touched each other, their shyness was funny, soft.

“Harry,” Louis said with determination. “Let’s have a code word. If you want to leave, say the code word and we’ll get out of there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “They don't care anyway. No, seriously, they really don't. But if it makes you feel less awkward.”

“Okay.”

Harry thought about the possible words that might come up in conversation. Nothing to do with eating, that was for sure. Harry wasn't even sure he could actually swallow anything at this point. His nerves were spiked like a punk rocker’s hair.

“How about Overtime?” he asked. “A sports term.”

“Good one!” Louis said. He reached over and took Harry’s hand. “Thanks for doing this. We won't go into Overtime, I promise.”

Louis cupped Harry’s cheek in his left hand and turned Harry’s face toward himself. He watched Harry tenderly, hopefully. He rubbed his thumb over Harry’s chin, feeling the fine, scratchy, downy stubbles.

Harry leaned over and they kissed. At first Harry’s lips were tentative. Then both of them started to feel each other’s lips perk up with life. It was only the third time they had kissed each other, but their kisses had grown slow and deliberate. Their mutual reassurance passed like a feather between their breaths, floating in the air between them.

“C’mon,” Louis coaxed. “Mom’s making a beef roast and mashed potatoes. She doesn't like it when it gets cold.”

“I'm impressed already,” Harry said. “An actual roast and mash. I don't think I've had—“ He stopped abruptly. He cleared his throat and said nothing more.

 _You haven't had actual homemade food for ages_ , Louis thought. _That's what you were going to say._

“You’re not vegetarian, I hope, Harry?” Louis asked. “We always have a big salad, too, but I didn't even think—“

“’S okay, Lou,” Harry interrupted. “Don't worry.”

“Let’s go?”

Harry squeezed Louis’s hand. Louis nodded his head, and they got out.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“So, Harry, Louis tells me you’re an artist,” Jay said. She passed the bowl of mashed potatoes back to Louis, who set it down on the table.

Harry sat with a napkin folded on his lap, his lanky elbows tucked in to his sides, seated between Louis and Lottie, and across from Louis’s twin sisters, Phoebe and Daisy. Louis’s other sister, Fizzy, sat diagonally from Harry to his right. Louis’s mother, Jay, was seated at one end of the table, and her husband, Dan, was on the other end.

Before they went into the house, Harry had buttoned up one more button on his shirt, and tucked it in. He looked like a tamed wolf, with his fur neatly brushed and patted down.

They were seated in the dining area between the kitchen and the family room, where the space was large enough to fit a long, oak, dining table set for eight people. Frequently in the Tomlinson household, chairs would be added to either side lengthwise, as kids would mysteriously appear from a black hole of neighborhood children and the Tomlinsons’ school friends. No one was ever turned away. The food was shared and everyone was always fed.

Harry chewed and swallowed his beef roast, wiped his mouth, and said, “I don't know what Louis has told you, but I'm not any great artist, for sure.”

“Don't be modest, Harry,” Louis said. “You're crazy talented.”

“What kind of art do you do, Harry?” Dan asked.

“I'm just a welder,” Harry said. “Like, metal scraps.”

Louis arched his eyebrows and made an impatient _tsk_ , to say, _As if!_

“What do you do with them?” Fizzy asked.

“Well, sometimes I make sculptures,” Harry answered. He began to gesture with his hands, as if he were holding pieces of metal, and then stopped self-consciously, embarrassed, and laid his wrists back on his lap.

“Like, what kind?” Phoebe said. “What do they look like?”

“How big are they?” Daisy said.

“Do you have a picture of one?” Phoebe asked.

“Guys,” Louis said. “One at a time. Harry’s art is pretty amazing. He has these beautiful, gigantic metal pieces hanging on the walls, and they look like huge raptors or something, swooping down from the sky.”

“Well, mine are not really… um… representational,” Harry said. He saw the widened, confused looks around him. The room quieted and everyone looked to him for his explanation. Harry blushed and coughed. “Sorry. Art theory. It sounds pretentious, doesn't it.”

“No, Harry,” Louis coaxed gently. “What were you going to say? Go on.”

Harry looked at him. Louis’s eyes crinkled subtly in a slight smile, and he nudged Harry’s knee under the table. Then Louis lightly nodded his chin up, as if to say, _You can do it._

“It's just,” Harry started. “Abstract art is abstract. You feel something inside, but it's different than what you feel when you look at a photograph or realistic art. You can't connect it to anything you know right away.”

“Is it all spots and dots, anyway?” Daisy said.

“It's more like, you have a feeling about it, and then you think, _why does it make me feel like that?_ You connect it to things that, maybe, don't have to do with art at all, but with other things that make you think, or feel. Things you like or dislike, maybe.”

“Our art teacher showed us some art like that in class,” Lottie said. “We saw a painting—splashes and dots.”

“And what did you think about it, Lottie?” Harry prompted. “How did you feel?”

“Like I could do that,” Lottie said. “I mean, it didn't look that hard. Really!”

Harry laughed out loud, a spontaneous and hearty sound. “You're pretty honest,” he said.

“The Tomlinson-Deakins are really good at that,” Louis turned to Harry. “No feelings spared.”

“If it doesn't look like anything real,” Phoebe asked, “how do you know if it’s any good? A piece of metal doesn't feel like anything.”

“See what I mean?” Louis raised an eyebrow.

“But Phoebe—you’re Phoebe, right?” She nodded. “Doesn't it feel good when no one tells you what to feel?” Harry said. “You don't have to agree with anybody. You can use your own imagination,” he said. All eyes were on him, listening to his low, raspy, hypnotic voice. “Art is just asking for a bit more imagination.”

“Do you ever show your art?” Jay asked Harry. “Will we get to see it sometime?” She passed the carved roast around for second helpings. Harry put two more pieces on his plate, and another scoop of potatoes.

“There will be a showing at the national fine arts competition,” Harry said. “One of my pieces is competing in it.”

“How exciting!” Jay exclaimed. “Congratulations, Harry. What an accomplishment! Where will that be?”

“In Washington, D.C.”

“Are you going?” Louis turned toward Harry.

Harry bit his bottom lip and said, “I don't know. Maybe.”

Fizzy brought in a plate of warm brownies and a large tub of vanilla ice cream. She went back to the kitchen to get bowls and spoons. The twins excitedly transferred brownies into the bowls and scooped ice cream on top. The dessert was passed around the table.

Harry dug his spoon in. The chewy warmth of the chocolate met with the cold vanilla sweetness of the cream.

“Do you need help going to the competition?” Jay asked. “We can help you with arrangements, Harry, if you need.”

Harry raised his head to look at her, and then turned to stare at Louis, wondering how much Louis had told her about his home situation. Louis smiled sheepishly. Jay had asked why Harry was coming to their house for their first date. Louis had told her that he wanted Harry to have a home-cooked meal, and then one thing after another had slowly leaked out.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “My mum might be coming,” he said. “I think I'm all set. Thank you, Mrs. Deakin.”

“Will you come to the state tournament game, Harry?” Lottie asked. “I'm riding with Louis, and we have room for one more. Don't we, Lou?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Harry said.

Despite not wanting to show disappointment, Louis’s shoulders sank. Somewhere there had been a turn of conversation, and Harry had closed a door. Harry ate his dessert quietly. The subject seemed to be finished.

“But why, Harry?” Lottie turned to Louis, urging him to say something. “It's Louis’s last state tournament. Don't you want to be there to cheer him on? We have plenty of room. It's really no trouble, is it, Lou?”

“We’ll all be there, Harry,” Daisy said.

“You should come,” Phoebe added.

Louis waited as Harry kept his head down, and then said, “Guys, Harry might have other plans that day. I’d love it, if you could, Harry. Of course.”

Harry swallowed his brownie and carefully wiped his mouth. He deliberated before turning to Louis.

“Do state tournament games often end in Overtime?” Harry asked.

Phoebe answered, “Last year it did, Lou. Remember?”

Fizzy answered, “That’s right! It was an assist from Louis that won the game in overtime.”

“What an incredibly exciting ending it was!” Jay said. “Either way, I wouldn't have missed it for the world. But I'm glad it ended the way it did. It was a great game.”

“It really was,” Dan nodded. “One of the most exciting soccer games that I’ve seen.”

Louis watched Harry quietly. Harry wasn't engaging with the rest of Louis’s family, but was waiting for an answer in the air, like a butterfly perched upon a leaf. He was waiting for Louis.

“It's not rare to go into Overtime when the two top schools in the state play each other,” Louis said, carefully watching Harry. “How do you feel about Overtime games, Harry?”

Harry chose his words carefully.

“They’re pretty intense, aren't they?” Harry said slowly. “I don't like that kind of pressure. It's a lot.”

The tinkle of spoons rang out in the dining room against the porcelain dishes. Harry wiped his mouth, set his dish on the table, and carefully laid the spoon next to it.

“Mm,” Louis nodded. He looked at Harry and understood. Harry didn't say anything more. Then Louis turned to his family, “I promised to take Harry home by a decent time. Mom, Dan, thanks so much for dinner. I guess we’re going now.”

“Are you sure, Harry?” Jay was a little surprised by the abruptness of the announcement. “No seconds on dessert? There's plenty, you know.”

Louis said, “I'm sure Harry will be back again, mom. It was all great.”

Harry glanced up and spoke to Jay, “Thank you so much for having me.” He turned to Dan and the girls. “I've had so much fun. Louis has an amazing family. Really. You're all amazing. Thanks again.”

Harry pushed his chair from the table and got up. He started to clean up his dishes and silverware.

“Please just leave them,” Jay said. “I'll take care of that, Harry. It was a great pleasure to meet you. I hope you stop by again! It would be lovely to get to know you better.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He glanced at Louis, who had gotten up.

Louis pulled out Harry’s chair so that he could get out between them. Harry negotiated his long legs around the chair legs.

“I'll see you later,” Louis said to his family. “Thank you, mom. Dinner was really lovely.”

As Harry left the room, Louis put his hand on Harry’s lower back to escort him out. He heard his sisters giggle. He felt a slight tremor in Harry’s body, but wasn't sure whether he had imagined it. He unlocked the front door and they left the house.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

They drove silently down the street, Harry looking out into the darkness, Louis staring straight ahead. He kept his eyes focused on the the dark road as the cool fog rolled in, blanketing the path ahead and diffusing the road markings. Occasionally he watched Harry, whose silence was a focused beam, a mark of his emotion. Louis just didn't know what the emotion was.

“Harry,” Louis said, “are we okay?”

He waited patiently for Harry, who took a breath and didn't reply for a few seconds. He played with his fingers and gazed down. When he finally spoke to Louis, his voice was dark and slow, tinged with reflection.

“You have a nice family, Louis,” Harry said. “They're great.”

“And?” Louis stared straight ahead. They were nearing Harry’s street. Louis slowed down to see the road better, since the fog obscured the road markings.

“They love you very much.”

“Yeah, they do,” Louis agreed. “They're kind of protective, I guess.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Harry said. Then he added, slowly, “I'm sorry I said what I said—about the state tournament game. Do you mind?”

“You mean about not coming with me and Lottie?” Louis asked. “No, ‘course not. Harry, don't feel like you have to go along with whatever the family recommends. They can be very insistent. I told you, they're rather protective of me, and they want a billion friends to do things with them, always.” Louis paused. “I'm curious, though. Why? Can I ask?”

They wound through the hairpin curves of the woods, damp with a recent sprinkle of rain, shrouded in fog like a kingdom from the fairy tales. Louis piloted the car carefully and slowly. He spotted the lone mailbox in the curve and turned into the driveway.

“My mum will be here,” Harry said, quietly.

“And you want to spend time with her?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do. I haven't seen her in a long time.”

“Well,” Louis said, “I’d say that was more important than watching a game you're not very interested in, for sure.” Harry cringed, and Louis put out a hand to hold his arm. They pulled up the driveway and stopped in front of the house. The windows were all dark. “Harry, c’mon,” Louis said, with kindness. “It's really okay. You're allowed your own time. It's a game for me, but for you it’s—well, it's your mom. It's more important.”

“Can you come in, Louis? For a bit?”

Louis watched Harry’s face in the darkness. He couldn't tell whether Harry felt sad, or just relieved that he was out of Louis’s house, out of the glare of his family’s scrutiny. His face was cast in shadows.

“Yeah, sure,” Louis said. “Do you have dessert?”

“Very funny,” Harry said with a little laugh. 

They exited the car and Louis locked it. Harry ambled up the walk to the front door, and Louis followed him from behind. Harry struggled to see his keys in the darkness. He fumbled for a bit, then got the key into the door and twisted it to open the door. The house was dark and quiet. The smell of dust and metal hung in the air.

Harry flicked on a hallway light.

“Do you want—“

Louis closed the door behind him and launched himself against Harry, wrapping his arms around him. He buried his face in Harry’s neck, inhaling deeply, and he hugged Harry tightly. Harry wordlessly hugged him back, caressing Louis’s cheek with his own.

“Louis,” Harry whispered.

“Harry,” Louis responded.

Louis craned his neck up and touched his lips against Harry’s jaw. His tongue traced itself along Harry’s jaw, ending at the sharp angle, where his lips slowly sucked a bruise, harsh and loving in equal measure. Harry turned his face sideways, enjoying the pain, letting Louis take his time. Harry exhaled slowly, as if the entire breath of the evening were being unwound, molecule by molecule, traveling like a burgundy exodus, atom by atom, out of his lungs.

Louis unbuttoned Harry’s top button and traced his fingers just inside, letting his knuckles drag against the skin of Harry’s chest. He felt Harry’s body jerk a little to his touch, and smiled slyly. Louis unbuttoned another button, and slid his hand inside to caress Harry’s nipple. The back of his hand dragged across the nipple and felt it turn in texture from a soft puff to a puckered, pebbled disc. He put his mouth over the nipple and hovered with warm breaths, and then placed his lips on it and licked it through Harry’s shirt, slowly, one slick at a time, again and again.

Harry hitched his breath, closing his eyes.

“Boring jock, right?” Louis whispered. “Not like you expressive artists.” Louis took Harry’s nipple between his teeth and put a slight pressure, until Harry grunted.

“Damn it, Louis.”

“Did you think you were the only one who can make moves, Harry?”

“Louis,” Harry held his arms, so that Louis had to stop and look at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“I've been with you all night,” Louis says. “It’s not easy to hold back, Harry. I'm game, if you are.”

“You're not—“ Harry stopped short.

“What is it, babe?” Louis touched his face. “Tell me.”

“You're not doing it out of pity?” Harry said. “Because I—“

“Wait, is that why you kissed me in the first place?” Louis had an offended and amused look on his face. “You felt sorry for me?”

“Well,” Harry said, slowly. “I knew no one else ever would, with your ugly face.” He bopped Louis’s nose with his index finger.

“Nice one!” Louis said. He looked at Harry's face, his muscles set in concern, yet trying hard not to give anything away. Harry was breaking his heart.

“I don't feel sorry for you, Harry Styles. ‘Course not. You’re so a strong, you’re trying your best, and doing a _great_ job, actually. You're thriving. You're _making_ yourself. Look at you— you're more of a whole person than anyone I know. You’re amazing, and funny, and gorgeous, and—“

“And?” Harry looked at Louis, his eyes wide open and glimmering.

“And you deserve love,” Louis said. He saw Harry breathe in sharply and hold it. “You deserve the most love, Harry.”

Harry felt a surge of emotion come into his throat, warm and tingly like autumn cider. He raised his chin and looked at Louis, who smiled with crinkled eyes.

“Come here, love,” Louis pulled Harry closer to himself. They held their hands as Harry bit his lip.

Harry blinked. Louis stood there in all his goodness, a person unrecognizable from the shouting, frustrated shell of an athlete who used to torment his days in seventh grade, who made every day in gym class unbearable. He had hated him so much. Louis represented everything he hated about boys that age—the over-confidence, the ego, the bluster, the ability to blend into a group and adopt their language, their gestures, their culture. He was a natural athlete who couldn't understand that some just _were_ _not_. Yet here he was, with his layers peeled away, a human being with sympathy and heart, who demonstrated he could, he would, he did look into Harry’s soul, and would nurture it, could love it.

“I don't hate you,” Harry said, “Louis Tomlinson.”

“Well, that's good!” Louis laughed. “We’re off to a good start.” He leaned in to give Harry a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Do you want to—“ Harry started.

“What, Harry?”

Harry cast his eyes down and then looked up, pulled Louis closer to himself. He put a hand on Louis’s waist.

“Make some noises together?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask,” Louis said. “I have a million noises stored up, and no one to make them with.”

“Then it's your lucky day, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said. “There's actually no one here to hear our noises, except a few metal scraps and ghosts. They're harsh critics, though.”

“I don't care,” Louis said insouciantly. “I’ve got a pretty good voice.”

“Oh, I bet,” Harry said, laughing. “Come on, then. Let's hear it.”

He took Louis’s hand and led him toward the stairs to go up to the second floor.

 _This is where the light was,_ Louis thought _. I don't have to imagine anymore. I’m actually here._

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

Louis's fingers felt the knot of the fabric against the soft curls of hair. They worked to unknot the scarf, carefully so as not to hurt him. Louis unwound the scarf strand by strand, watching the matted hair emerge like flowers in the spring, their hidden perfection unfurling petal by petal. Harry stood still as Louis worked on his scarf, although he could have ripped the scarf off in a minute. The unwinding was hypotonic. The loss of fabric revealed Harry to Louis one revolution at a time.

After the scarf, Louis worked on Harry’s buttons one by one, his fingers barely brushing against the dress shirt. Harry spread his fingers that lay by his side. The pinky in his left hand separated itself from the rest, as if it were an involuntary reflex, a sign of drama that he couldn't control. His pinky was like toes curling in excitement—something he couldn't help.

Louis noticed it. He shuddered at the intimacy of that moment.

Harry lifted Louis’s sweater, and then they were standing bare-chested in front of each other. All at once, they felt a little awkward, a bit naked. Harry cleared his throat, and Louis exhaled a laugh, both embarrassed suddenly.

Louis spread his right hand out, in the middle of Harry’s chest, and stilled him. He tapped his fingers back and forth as if playing the piano. Harry looked down at the hand and then began to laugh. He caught Louis’s hand and held it against his chest, their hands clasped. He pulled Louis in and held him tight, his other hand swinging around the small of Louis’s back. Harry dipped his head into Louis’s hair.

“You smell good,” Harry said.

“Oh?” Louis said. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Like beef roast and mash,” Harry said, his eyes closing. “And brownies and ice cream.”

“You little shit!” Louis retorted.

He broke apart from their embrace and craned his face to kiss Harry. The Tomlinson kiss was coming, whether Harry was ready or not. Their lips met— Louis’s dramatic, Harry’s open in a surprised laugh, and then they closed and caressed, their mouths waking to each other.

Harry’s hand trailed down Louis’s side, and touched him just above the curve of his waist. Louis spasmed involuntarily and yelped out a laugh.

“Ticklish?” Harry asked. One hand held Louis’s back tightly to himself, preventing his escape.

“Get away!” Louis slapped at his hands. “Stop, stop! Help!”

Harry dug his fingers in and held on tight, glorifying in the muscular twists of Louis’s body, the way Louis writhed under his hand. Louis bucked like a small storm. Suddenly Harry clasped Louis to himself, like a rag doll, and breathed him in, the intoxicating scent of him, the mixture of flowers, ocean, meat, potatoes, salt, and an underlying sheen of nerves and sex. The Louis of the soccer field and the Louis of the bedroom.

“Louis,” Harry whispered. “Louis, God. You're here.”

“Harry.”

Louis bit Harry’s earlobe, and licked at the undersurface of his jaw, tasting Harry’s sweet and spicy skin, feeling the soft ends of whiskers in the downy hair there. He could feel Harry’s breathing quicken, his hands stiffen. Harry exhaled deeply. Louis kissed him in the neck, his lips traveling down to the crook of it, and then fixed on his pulse point, feeling the rush of blood under the thin membrane of his lips. He mouthed the skin, alternately licking and sucking on it, until the color of the skin turned a bright vermillion. Harry’s breaths quickened as he pushed his body forward.

Harry moaned.

“Does it hurt?” Louis asked.

“Yeah. No. It feels…good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want more. Please, more.”

Harry moved them to his bed and they fell in, kissing each other more freely now. Louis moved down Harry’s body until his lips circled Harry’s puffy nipple. His kittenish tongue circumnavigated the nipple, licking it in circles until he felt the smooth puffiness stiffen into pebbly points. Harry arched his back and moaned more loudly.

Louis moved to unbutton Harry’s jeans. He raised his head and look at Harry.

“Is it okay, Harry?”

“Yeah, Lou,” Harry answered, smokily. “Go on.”

Louis felt the tension underneath the fabric as he unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans. Harry lifted his hips and helped to push the jeans down, his cotton briefs strained over a semi-erection. Louis hesitated, and then hovered his lips over the tip of Harry’s cock. He closed his mouth over the fabric and licked.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned.

Louis ran his fingers under the waistband of the briefs. Harry put his hand over Louis’s, and with some violence, pushed the briefs off. He wriggled his buttocks so that the jeans and briefs were free, and then peeled them off his long legs.

“Holy shit,” Louis stared at Harry. Harry was so much prettier than he imagined. “Harry, has anyone else ever seen this? It's so… beautiful.”

“Let’s see,” Harry deliberated, breathy. “Not that many. Like five, six… not more than twenty.”

“Twenty!”

“Twenty, thirty, something like that.”

“You're kidding me!”

“Of course I am, Louis,” Harry looked at Louis with a smirk. “I'm not a circus freak. I don't hang out a sign that says, big cock, see it for a dollar.”

“But you should,” Louis said, with mock sincerity. “You're definitely worth a dollar.”

“Thanks, Romeo,” Harry couldn't help but laugh. “You are romantic.”

“You’d be rich, though!”

“I'd be an exhibitionist, silly,” Harry furrowed his brows and shook his head. _Seriously, Tomlinson._

“This thing belongs in a museum,” Louis made a frame with his hands over Harry’s groin. “Hang it at the Louvre.”

“Enter it into the next visual arts competition,” Harry rejoined. They looked at each other and burst into giggles. Louis draped his body over Harry’s abdomen, his face resting on Harry’s belly and his arm flung comfortably around Harry’s middle. Harry’s giggles rumbled his belly, sending rhythmic waves under Louis, which tickled him and made him laugh harder. The two of them reinforced each other’s waves of laughter until Louis lifted his head and looked at Harry.

“Harry,” he said, serious now. “I’d really like to give you a blow job.”

“Would you?” Harry stilled.

“But I need to know, is it safe? Should we use a condom?” Louis looked at Harry in the eyes.

“Louis, I would never tell you what to do,” Harry replied. “But this is my first time doing… this kind of thing.” Harry hesitated. “I've never had sex, oral or otherwise, with anyone. I haven't even had a proper relationship.”

“No one?”

“Nope,” Harry said. “Never. I don't do this, believe it or not.”

“Harry, given what I see here, that should be a crime.” Louis paused, and then asked, “Do you have any? Condoms, I mean.”

Harry answered with a stammer, “I—um—do. I have them here.” Harry reached over the side of the bed and picked up a plastic bag from a pharmacy. He took out a small unopened box of condoms and a bottle of lubrication.

“I wasn't sure what to get,” Harry said. “Or even… whether to get anything. I didn't know.”

“Aww,” Louis said, charmed that Harry had prepared. “Babe, this is so thoughtful.” He read the package. “Magnum lubed. Might be a bit small?”

“Do you really think so?” Harry worried. “I didn't know.”

“I'm sure it'll be alright, Harry,” Louis said. “Don't fret.”

Harry breathed. “How about you, Lou? Have you ever done this?”

Louis thought about the few dates he had gone on in high school. It was hard, to be a male soccer team captain who liked boys. He knew how some parents could not change their minds about gender expectations. He was proud of who he was, but he never wanted the team to have unwanted scrutiny, or to be known only for the captain’s sexual preferences.

Consequently, none of his dates ever progressed beyond kissing. Louis was discreet. He was focused. Soccer first. There had never been any question.

“Actually, I'm a virgin, in almost every way,” Louis confessed. “I've never done this before, either. I've only had dates that didn't go anywhere. They liked me okay, I just never found the One.”

“Lou,” Harry said. “I'd love for you to give me a blow job. In fact, I've been thinking about it, a lot. Maybe too much. But I'd never want you to do something you were uncomfortable with. I’ve never been with anyone. But you should do what you think is right.”

Louis thought about it, and then bent down to lick Harry’s now semi-soft cock. He licked the tip of the cock and tentatively put the very tip into his mouth. Harry stuttered a cry.

“I trust you, Harry.”

“Lou,” Harry said. “I trust you.” He put his hands by his sides.

Louis moved down and got into a comfortable position between Harry’s legs. Harry’s cock twitched twice in interest, filling fast. Louis opened the bottle of lube and squirted a small amount in his palm, rubbing to warm it up, and then wrapped it around the base of Harry’s cock. He pulled up slowly, gathering the soft skin along the shaft, the pressure of his fingers countered by the slickness of the lube.

Louis wrapped his lips around the tip of Harry’s cock and swirled his tongue. He could feel Harry suck in his breath, his mouth opened in a pretty O. Louis sucked in his lips so his teeth wouldn't catch on Harry’s foreskin, and then slid the cock into his mouth, further and further until it hit the back of his throat. He felt a gag trigger, and pulled quickly back.

“Sorry, Harry,” Louis coughed, choking. “You've got a lot to swallow. It's a bit… much.”

“Don't!” Harry said. “Louis, don't hurt yourself.”

“No,” Louis says with determination. “I want to.”

He sucked Harry down again, steadily increasing the pressure in his hand. He jerked Harry slowly and methodically, and then quickened the pace as he bobbed his mouth. He felt Harry hitch his breath and let out a small noise.

“Lou,” Harry says, “can you…do you think…”

Lou pulled out. “What, babe? Tell me.”

“Can you go faster? With your hand? And…um… lighter.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And the tip… the tip is really sensitive.”

Harry had tipped his chin toward the ceiling, his lips puffy, slightly apart. Louis could see his fingers gripping the sheets, and his hips rolling to one side.

“Is it too much? Leave it alone?”

“No,” Harry said forcefully. “Just the opposite. Play with it. It feels—good. When you lick it. Really, really good.” His rib cage moved in and out with his shallow breathing.

“Ohhhh.…” Louis understood.

Harry was giving him instructions on sexual pleasure. He was moved that Harry was trusting and brave enough to share them.

He lightened his touch and changed the pace so that it was like a well-oiled piston. He could feel Harry stiffen his thighs under his arms, clenching his ass and extending his long legs. Harry put a hand on the back of Louis’s neck. He caressed him softly. He turned his head to the side and bit his lip.

Louis sucked at Harry’s tip, playing with the foreskin, pushing it back to lick at the sensitive head. He could feel Harry arch his back and push himself forward, deeper into Louis’s mouth. Then he felt Harry withdraw delicately, so he pursued him, sucking him further, taking him in. He tasted the salty slick of Harry’s precome, a sweet taste in the back of his throat. Its animal and chemical smell permeated him. His own cock was straining inside his pants. He could feel a slick wetting through his briefs. Louis clenched his buttocks and felt his balls tingle.

“Hey,” Louis whispered in a harsh hush. “I wish you could fuck me. I want you to, so bad.”

Harry dragged out a low and extended moan. His hips jutted forward, and he tensed his legs. Louis sucked deeply, licking him, stroking him with his tongue. Harry held his breath, and rasped out, “Lou.” He nudged Louis’s head off his cock. Louis knew he was about to come. He stroked Harry’s tip steadily as a cresting wave of contraction passed from Harry’s balls into his cock.

Louis’s lips dripped with saliva, and his chin was slick with lube. He saw Harry take a look at him. Louis lasciviously pressed his tongue up Harry’s shaft and pushed down Harry’s tip with his thumb. With that, come squirted out of Harry’s cock, followed by creamy ropes of it shooting around Louis’s hand. Harry cried out.

“Fuck,” Harry exhaled. “Oh, fuck. Fuck me! That was… fucking… everything.”

Louis licked him between the cock and the balls, feeling the contractions ebbing there. He licked Harry’s tip, tasting his come, bitter and salty. Harry twitched under his tongue.

“I'm so glad you enjoyed it,” Louis said. “It was great for me. I loved watching you, babe.”

“It was so wet and warm,” Harry exhaled. “You felt so good, Louis. It was an amazing feeling.”

“Best you’ve ever had?”

“Definitely,” Harry laughed. Louis knew how to coax him out, in more ways than one. Harry was floating. He was on the crest of a roller coaster, looking skyward. And then he descended, pausing with an air of deliberation and embarrassment. “But—“

“What, Harry?”

“I don't think we really should, Lou.” Harry said. “Do you?”

“Should what?”

Harry pulled Louis up so that their faces were level. They lay next to each other, Harry’s come a liquid pool on his body and on Louis’s hand, the smell of sex heavy in the air. Louis was a bit disoriented from being down there, between Harry’s legs. it took him a minute to adjust.

“I mean, the anal sex,” Harry was saying. “I don't know. Maybe it's too soon?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Louis said softly, letting the syllables tumble down. He was disappointed, but it was probably the right thing. Harry was right.

“I like you so much, Louis.”

Harry leaned over and kissed Louis’s cheek. Louis thought he sounded apologetic, and he didn't want Harry to feel bad. He gently touched Harry's hand.

“And I like you, Harry,” Louis said. “We don't have to do anything—“

“No,” Harry interrupted. “I want to. I do. So much. But I don't think we should ruin it…”

“…by going too fast,” Louis finished for him.

“I want it,” Harry said. His eyes met Louis’s and shone to them like a lighthouse through the fog. “The first time, Lou. I want it, with you.”

Louis was struck by arrows of sweetness so fast and numerous, he almost squealed out loud. He couldn't have imagined a happiness like this, _not_ having sex with someone. It was the promise that sealed it for him. He could trust Harry. Harry didn't make empty promises.

“What would that be like, do you imagine?”

“Hmm,” Harry said. “Do you want me to tell you? I kind of have a picture… in my mind.”

“Tell me!” Louis squeaked. He realized he was a bit overstimulated, like someone who’d eaten too much candy. His pulse was still going fast.

“Alright,” Harry said in his deep, smooth voice. “First, I'm going to need you to take your pants off.”

Louis looked down. His pants were stained through with a tiny spot of precome, and it was obvious where that was. He twisted his head nervously toward Harry, who lifted his chin to tell him, _I’m waiting._

“Should I… clean up first?” Louis asked haltingly.

“Clean up after,” Harry said. “You're going to need a big towel.”

“Are you serious, Styles.”

Louis eased himself out of his trousers and briefs, and tossed them to the side of the room, with his sweater. His cock lay taut on his belly, firecracker red, the tip glistening with clear fluid.

Harry reached over and gently touched his balls. He traced his long finger up Louis’s shaft.

“You’ve got a nice big cock, Louis,” Harry whispered.

“Thanks. It’s not—“ Louis started saying, but Harry took a thimbleful of his own come, and smeared it on Louis’s shaft. He circled the cock and then traced the vein along the side with the thick liquid. He played with the cock as if it were a delicate sculpture, tracing its lines, circling it with three long fingers.

“I'd like to write my name on you,” Harry said. “ _Louis Tomlinson is mine."_

“Am I? When did we decide that?”

Louis gritted his teeth and concentrated on not coming too soon. Harry was trying him so hard. His fingers travelled around Louis’s cock like a serpent around a tree. He was teasing Louis mentally and physically.

“When you asked me to fuck you,” Harry exhaled.

He rolled over and lay on top of Louis, smearing himself all over Louis’s body. He ground down on Louis, rubbing their erections together. Louis was being stimulated so mercilessly, he actually forgot to breathe, and had to take a big gulp of air. He let out a prolonged, soft groan.

“Your noises, Louis,” Harry said. “What happened to them?”

“I was letting you… aggnh… letting you go.. first. Jesus. God, Harry.”

Harry was thrusting Louis’s belly, pushing and pulling the skin of Louis’s cock with just his belly, lubricated by his own come. The back and forth tugs were becoming unbearable for Louis. He felt as if he could come any minute himself, just from Harry fucking him with his skin.

“You’re a good boy,” Harry said. “So considerate. I imagine you would bend over for me.”

“Yeah, I would, Harry.”

“I wanted you to, in the bathroom where I first kissed you.”

 _Thrust, thrust, thrust_. Louis’s buttocks clenched and tensed, and he raised his pelvis toward Harry’s cock, increasing the friction. _God, it was so good._

"Wanted to peel your pants off and get my hands on that ass. Wanted to touch you and suck you, Louis, wanted my dick in you.”

At that, Louis contracted, spilling his come everywhere. He moaned loudly, in ecstasy and pain, cursing Harry.

“Fuck you, Harry! Don't make me think that!”

“Oh, we’re not done, Lou.” Harry said with a satisfied smirk. He got up and went out of the room, returning a minute later with a bath towel. He spread the towel under their bodies.

“Big towel, remember?”

“You are actually going to kill me, Harry Styles,” Louis said. “You and your damn imagination. I don't think I can go again. It's too much.”

“Scale up, Lou,” Harry said. “I'm just asking a little more of you. Do you think you can try?”

Louis glared at Harry. Harry had scooted him over on the bed, and was lying down next to him. He smiled at Louis innocently. “Please, Lou. Try. For me.”

“I never knew you were this sadistic.”

Harry rolled Louis onto his side, and slotted himself next to Louis, a big spoon. Louis could feel Harry’s erection in the cleft of his buttocks, and despite having come just a minute ago, felt his cock tense again with interest, his nipples tingle. He almost felt like admonishing his little creature. _Have you no shame? Go to bed! Fun’s over. Don't let that big dick order you around!_

Louis’s cock was not a good listener.

Harry reached across Louis’s body and grabbed the bottle of lube. He poured a generous amount onto his palm, and then slicked up his dick with it. He inserted the cock between Louis’s butt cheeks, and Louis half-wished that Harry would penetrate him. He knew it was wrong to wish it, right now. Harry had said no. But he was so close, and Louis could almost feel it inside, filling him with a strange and happy pain.

Harry started grinding Louis slowly. He laid the palm of his hand on Louis’s belly, pulling him toward himself, so there was a tight connection. Louis’s cock flopped against the back of Harry’s hand. With his other hand, Harry grasped Louis’s cock and held it still.

“You're bent over the bed, Louis,” Harry said, “and I have two fingers in your ass.”

“Ah!” Louis cried. Harry’s dick was scraping over his hole in the most insistent way.

He heard Harry’s voice hitch higher. “You're fucking down on my hand, Louis,” Harry panted. “You’re leaking and it's so hot. My dick is throbbing for you, and you just fuck and fuck my hand. You're gorgeous, your hair’s wild and you want more.”

“I do,” Louis cried out, frantic. “I want you. I want you to fuck me, Harry! Damn it, fuck me!”

“Can't, Louis. Have to wait.”

Louis felt a pressure build in his groin. He didn't want to wait. He squeezed his hole. He wanted Harry, he wanted Harry in there, he wanted Harry to come again.

“You want to be in there, don't you, Harry?” Louis teased, sweetly. “It's warm and tight. You belong in there. I'll be wrapped around you in every way, and we’ll be joined, Harry.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and felt Harry slam his dick between his butt cheeks, now furious and insistent, pounding into the tight space. He heard Harry curse and push his face between Louis’s shoulder blades, felt Harry's breath hot on his skin, his lips warm and dry, panting hard.

“You belong to me, Harry Styles. You're going to dance with me. And you'll come on me. You're going to come so hard, your ass will ache.”

“Fuck,” Harry gritted. He grabbed Louis’s cock and began to furiously stroke it, matching the rhythm of his pelvis thrusting into Louis’s cleft. Louis, caught by surprise, gave in as if riding a wild stallion. The jerking was erratic and frantic, a man clawing his way to a climax.

Louis felt the stimulation below and behind him. He pushed his ass out so that Harry's cock was sliding past his hole with every thrust, so that the friction and the slipperiness were both at their maximum. Harry’s body was plastered to his, sweat between them, lube and come below. Suddenly, Harry’s hand came up to touch only Louis’s tip, and he played with the tip by running his thumb in a circular way. He lightly pulled and pushed at the tip. This was too much for Louis. He howled a sound of pain, and his perineum contracted, his come only tiny drops, but his contractions long and deep, painfully reaching almost to the inside of his belly. Wave after wave of sensation passed through him, and suddenly he was a little dizzy, lightheaded, flying. He heard Harry groan and curse and then push to a spasm behind him, knew that Harry had come between his ass cheeks, but he was light, free, and tired, and the pain inside had turned into a warm and soft kind of joy, a core of golden happiness. He saw the colors of aquamarine floating in front of him and almost reached out to touch them, but he knew this was a mild hallucination from being lightheaded. He breathed shallowly, making soft noises.

“Louis,” he heard Harry say, in the distance. “Lou! You okay?”

“Yeah, Harry,” Louis slurred, blinking slowly. “Thank you. I can't even describe that. It was super.”

“You look like you spaced out,” Harry said. “I was kind of worried.”

“I'm here,” Louis murmured. “Anyway, it's your fault. You did it.”

“I did it,” Harry sighed.

He wrapped his arms around Louis and kissed the top of Louis’s head. Their chests rose and sank in parallel, their breathing slowing from erratic to calm, deep, even exchanges of air. Louis turned his face toward Harry, and kissed him intimately on the mouth, only a light breath between the lips, a ghost passing through a church.

“Louis,” Harry said.

“What, love?”

“I'm sleepy,” Harry muttered. He put his cheek against Louis and rubbed lightly.

Louis patted Harry’s arm.

“We should… um… take a shower.” Louis yawned. His body stretched out, boneless and sweaty.

“Yeah, should,” Harry muttered. “Shower.”

“Mm.”

They wrapped their arms around each other, barely holding on, and soon were both asleep.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Louis woke up disoriented, not knowing where he was, with a vague and floating feeling in his head. His feet were twisted in white cotton sheets. The inside of his mouth stuck together.

A pale, early winter morning light cascaded through the curtains, bluish and hazy, the dust motes sparkling like snow. Louis gazed through his sleepy eyes.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ The realization sank into him like a dull knife. It was morning and he hadn't been home all night. His mother was going to kill him.

Louis picked up his phone. He had turned the sound off last night. A string of text messages showed up with decreasing amounts of time in between, from his mother and Lottie, finally stopping around midnight. The string ran all the way down his phone’s notifications until it ran out of space at the bottom of the screen. There were four voice mail messages, too. Louis could just imagine what they sounded like, and cringed.

Louis smelled a fragrance of something cooking, buttery and rich. He stumbled to sit up, and then the realization hit him, that he was still in Harry’s house, in Harry’s room. He looked down at his sticky, naked body, covered front to back with the remnants of last night, and then glanced in a embarrassed, satisfied way toward the half-open bedroom door. Louis stood up, walked to retrieve his clothes from the night before, lying in a pile on the other side of the room, and then headed to the bathroom for a shower.

In the shower, he noticed how spare and neat everything was. He could smell Harry in the soap and shampoo, even in the water itself. It was as if Harry invented this store-brand shampoo because he was unique and original, as if Harry invented water coming out of a shower head. He couldn't help a smile creeping into the corner of his mouth. Louis laughed at himself for being so ridiculous. He was absurdly happy to be touching the soap that Harry had touched. He rinsed himself off, thinking about what had happened last night. They had done that. Harry was with him and they were together.

After the shower, Louis sent a quick text to his mother, telling her where he was. Before she had a chance to reply, Louis turned the phone off.

He went downstairs and saw Harry standing at the stove, his back turned to Louis. He was wearing a ragged T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, and was barefoot. A radio was playing. All the dirty dishes from before had been cleared away. Louis saw, again, the portrait of Harry’s mother in the corner, her smile a mirror image of Harry’s, down to the dimple.

“H,” Louis said. “Whatcha doing?”

“Oh, hey!” Harry turned around. He had a million-watt smile, devoid of self-consciousness. “Do you like omelets?”

“Harry,” Louis said. “You didn’t have to cook. We could have just had cereal or something.”

Harry made an embarrassed face.

“Yeah. I sort of, um, ran out of milk. Like a month ago. But I have eggs and cheese and… like, ketchup?”

“I love ketchup omelets,” Louis said. “My favorite. How did you know?”

Harry’s smile seemed to grow.

“It’ll be done in a sec, Lou.”

Louis came behind Harry and peeked over his shoulder, watching the eggs sizzling in the pan, the delicate pastel yellow mixture curling at the edges, Harry nudging at them with a plastic spatula, the steam from the eggs and butter spiraling just above.

Louis, who loved sport and competition, who lived for adrenaline and pursuit and winning, wished that all the world could be contained in a moment like this, just him and Harry, watching some scrambled eggs turning into cooked omelets in a pan, on a Sunday morning. Harry threw in three slices of cheese, watched them start to melt, then expertly folded the eggs in half.

“You're quite the chef,” Louis said.

“You should see me with ramen. I'm deadly, really.”

Harry divided the omelet into two halves and transferred them to plates. He set the pan back on the stove. Out of a drawer, he pulled out two forks. He walked to the refrigerator and brought out a small bottle of ketchup and a pitcher of water.

“So. Happy breakfast.” Harry held out a plate for Louis. He had a small, not-quite-awake smile. His lashes palely framed his sparkling green eyes. They were impatiently attentive, like a puppy looking for approval.

“Happy breakfast, sweetness.” Louis leaned over and nuzzled Harry on the nose. He carried the plates and forks to the kitchen table. He set them side by side.

Harry took out two matching crystal goblets from the cabinet.

“Fancy glasses,” he said, holding them up.

“I live for fancy shit,” Louis replied. “Smother me with some fancy goblets, Harry. Let's do it up big.”

Harry carried the ketchup, pitcher of water, and glasses to the table. He set the goblets by each plate. The light streamed through the kitchen window, filling the room with a grainy brightness. The walls seemed to be aglow. It was like being on the inside of a geode. Louis stood by the table, waiting. Harry pulled out a chair.

Louis took out his phone.

“Don't sit down yet,” he said to Harry.

He searched through the phone and found a continuous looping video of a flickering candle. He propped the phone up by the flipped stand in the back of the phone case. Harry barked out a laugh when he saw.

“Louis, you’re ridiculous. What is this?”

“Only the best for you,” Louis smiled. “Breakfast by candlelight. I told you, I live for fancy shit. No moment goes wasted.”

Louis sat down, and squeezed a heart-shaped streak of ketchup onto his omelet. Harry watched him trace out the shape, his eyes glued to Louis's every movement. Louis noticed it, and his heart darted around like butterflies in a garden. He tried to keep his face from breaking in half with joy.

“Do you really like ketchup on your eggs?” Harry asked. “Or are you just humoring me?”

“Harry Styles, I love ketchup omelets. I told you,” Louis said, solemnly. “I wouldn't lie just to make you feel better. Can you pass me the water?”

They filled their glasses and began to eat in the brilliant silence of the morning. When Louis was almost done, just a couple of minutes later, he looked at Harry.

“Can I ask something, Harry?”

“Sure,” Harry answered, chewing his eggs. “What is it?”

“Harry, I don't mean this in a weird way,” Louis said. He cleared his throat. “Like, you do what you want with your life— we’re not—you know, I don't, like, expect you to— we’re not exclusive.”

“What are you talking about, Lou?” Harry chuckled, and then, checking Louis’s face, he frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Louis cleared his throat again, louder. “I just wanted to ask about Liam.”

Harry’s face showed surprise. “Yeah? What about him?”

“You and he… is there… are you two…” Louis made a motion with his hands as if he were tossing a ball back and forth, or feeling the contours of a globe. “You don't have to tell me if you’d rather not.”

“Oh,” Harry said, as he realized what Louis was asking. He put down his fork. “Oh. No. Liam’s a good friend, Lou. He's a really nice person. I can count on him.”

“Oh!” Louis sighed in relief. “Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to be a creep about it.”

“It's okay. Liam and I are good friends. I met him in eighth grade, after I’d changed schools. His parents have been really nice to me.” Louis listened attentively, not interrupting. “They’ve invited me on vacation with them. I guess— I guess I've spent a lot of time at their house this year.”

“When your mom left.”

“Yeah,” Harry played with his hands. “Yeah, after that.”

“I'm glad you have Liam,” Louis said. Only a tiny sliver of him was lying. He really wasn't _that_ jealous anymore. Louis suddenly felt lighter, even though they were discussing Harry’s less-than-ideal home situation. “I mean, I'm really glad you have someone you can trust. He seems like a good guy. I imagine it's been hard for you, Harry.”

“I'm fine,” Harry said, nonchalantly. “I’m okay.” Louis looked at Harry unconvincingly.

“H, you don't even have _milk_ ,” Louis attempted to joke.

Harry didn't laugh. Instead, he shook his head. “I'm learning, Lou. And yes, Liam is a good person. He’s very calm— just takes things at face value. He doesn't judge me. I feel like I can be myself with him.” He paused. “That doesn't happen very often.”

“Oh? That's good,” Louis said. He considered all the times when he hadn't been able to figure out why Harry built these silent walls around himself. He had assumed Harry was snobbish and thought he was too good for other people. He remembered the first weeks of art class, when Harry had acted as if Louis didn't exist. Now Louis realized, it had been self-protection. This realization made him shrink with shame.

After a moment, he said, “Harry, I know you said before that I was a dick.”

“Lou, that was—”

“It’s alright,” Louis reached out and touched Harry’s hand. “I know what you meant now. I just didn't see how much I hurt you, you know? I'm pretty un-self-aware.” He chuckled in shame. “But it won't happen again. I promise you.”

Harry looked at Louis and smiled lightly. “Thanks.”

“I mean that, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I trust you now.”

Louis got up and carried their dishes to the sink. He came back for the glasses, and then squirted detergent into a sponge and started washing the dishes.

“Harry,” he asked. “Can you tell me— I mean, you don't have to. But— when is your mom coming? Do you know?”

Harry stood up and picked up the frying pan from the stove. He wiped it down with a paper towel and then carried it to the sink. Louis had the feeling that he was reluctant to answer. Louis rinsed the plates and glasses and set them on the drying rack.

“She said Friday,” Harry finally said. Friday was the day before the state tournament. It made sense now, why Harry couldn't come to the game. Harry’s voice was quiet and raspy, dropping away to a whisper. “She’s hoping to be here on Friday. She's driving from New Jersey.”

“New Jersey! Whoa,” Louis said. “That's a long way.”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry turned somber, and Louis thought his face seemed melancholic, or resigned.

“Harry, is there anything I can do?” Louis watched his face for a reaction. Harry was still holding back, his face devoid of expression, his lips pursed in a line.

“For what?”

“To help,” Louis said. “I don't know. Like, make it easier.”

Harry swung his face to look at Louis. Louis thought there was something like hope in his eyes, but it faded away quickly, became hidden in the opaque wall of icy green. Harry locked his gaze on Louis and seemed to be studying him. His eyes bore into Louis’s intensely. It was almost as if he were memorizing him, drinking in every detail of him. There was a concentrated quality of forlornness that was breaking Louis apart.

“I don't know,” Harry said.

“What's going to happen?” Louis asked. “Can you please tell me?”

Louis dried his hands on a tea towel, then reached out and held Harry’s hands. He rubbed Harry’s palms slowly and pulled on it like a tugboat pulling him through the fog.

Harry curled his fingers around Louis’s, but then he broke the grasp, and put his hand by his side.

“I don't know,” Harry repeated.

“No clue?” Louis asked. “Why is your mom coming? Just to see you?”

Harry looked down. An internal debate seemed to be taking place. Louis waited with a crawling nervousness, not knowing what to expect.

After a few seconds, Harry said, “Mum thinks I shouldn't live here, by myself.”

Louis’s heart sank at the words. “So…”

“She wants me to come with her,” Harry said. “To the East Coast.”

Louis bit his lips. He wanted to reach out to Harry, but he wasn't sure what Harry was feeling at the moment. Louis looked down, torn by his feelings. He knew Harry should be with his mother. He would be better cared for. No more ketchup omelets. No more walking miles to a grocery store. No more running out of milk. No more dragging heavy bags of metal scraps down dusty roads. But he selfishly yearned for Harry to stay.

“Harry, if you want to talk,” Louis said.

Harry turned his head away and blinked quickly. A hand came up and brushed his eye. Louis watched him silently, their hearts converging and then veering apart, traveling in parallel but unable to meet.

“Lou,” Harry finally said, “it doesn't matter.”

“What doesn't matter?”

“Nothing matters,” Harry said. “Nothing should matter. Nothing can matter.”

Louis realized what Harry was doing. He was trying to erase reality. As long as reality was nothing, Harry couldn't be hurt. He was air. He could disappear.

“You know that's not true,” Louis said. “What you decide matters. What you do matters.”

“No, it doesn't,” Harry said, quietly.

“Harry, it does to me.” Louis came closer to Harry. His hand came to Harry’s chin and turned it toward himself. “You matter. You’re smart and talented and funny, and you’re stuck in a shitty situation that you can't control.”

Harry continued to gaze down, not meeting Louis’s eyes. His face was an unreadable mask. Everything slowed.

“You’ve been tossed around and hurt so much, Harry, but you're still so strong and good.”

Harry looked up at Louis. He stayed silent. His eyes reflected only a blank darkness. But Louis saw just a faint, involuntary tremor of his lips.

“I know we’ve only just gotten close, and I have no right to tell you what to do,” Louis said, his voice breaking. “And I'll respect your decision, whatever happens.” Harry was watching him intently. “But I have to tell you, before it's too late. I have to say this. You matter to me, Harry. A lot. You're everything.”

Harry cleared his throat roughly. “I am?”

“You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Harry furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He looked wordlessly at Louis as a thin layer of tears pooled in his eyes. He shook his head lightly.

“Come on,” Louis said softly. “It’ll be okay.”

Louis pulled Harry to himself and hugged him. Harry gripped Louis’s back, his eyes closed. Louis felt the thin bone of his shoulder blades dig into his palms, a knife slicing through stone, or an oar in water. He felt thin and insubstantial. Louis wanted to hold on to him, even as he slipped away.

“Hey,” Louis said. “Let's do something on Thursday.”

“But your game,” Harry murmured, his mouth still buried in Louis’s skin. He lifted his chin. “Don't you have practice?”

“Short day on Thursday,” Louis said. “We have to rest up for the game. I'll meet you at school, at four. Do you think you can wait there for me?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. His voice was lighter and more even now. “I can.”

“Great! A second date!” Louis exclaimed. “Guess the first one didn't suck.”

“It wasn't terrible,” Harry conceded. “What are we going to do?”

“It's a surprise,” Louis said. He put his hands in front of himself. “Not at the Tomlinson-Deakin home this time, I promise. But you'll like it, I hope, H.”

“I'm sure I will.” Harry pulled one of Louis’s hands to his mouth and gently kissed it.

"You,” he said.

Louis never loved a word more.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Harry waited by the curb, his duffel bag next to him. His leather book was open and he was sketching the long-limbed, bare tree trunks by the fields on the horizon. The chill of winter was starting to pierce through his flannel shirt, and through the thin layer of the T-shirt underneath. Occasionally a student or faculty member would walk by on their way to the parking lot. In the distance, the soccer players were leaving the field and cleaning up their equipment. He could hear their high, resonant shouts echoing in the air.

“Hiya, Harry!”

Harry looked up. Julie was walking out of school toward him.

“Julie, hey,” Harry said. He raised his hand in greeting.

“Do you need a ride home?” she asked. She set her backpack on the ground and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Oh,” Harry grinned. “I'm just waiting for someone. Thanks, though.”

“You sure?” Julie said. “It's no trouble.”

“I'm good,” Harry replied.

“Harry,” Julie said, standing next to him, “will you be going to the game this Saturday? I'm going with my friend Rita. I don't know if you’d want to come with us.”

Harry’s expression didn't change. He seemed chipper and happy. “I don't think I can go, Julie. My mum will be here.”

“Oh,” Julie was taken aback. Harry didn't seem to be too affected at all. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, no worries,” Harry said. He closed his book and put it away in the duffel bag, putting his pen in the pocket of his pants. He rearranged the books inside the duffel to fit, and then zipped it up.

“Okay. Harry,” Julie said, hesitantly. She waited a moment, and then added, “I'm always here. If you need someone. For anything, you know?”

“I appreciate that, Julie,” Harry smiled. “You're a good friend.”

Julie’s face lit up. She said animatedly, “Do you think you’ll go to the dance on Saturday night?”

“The dance?”

“Homecoming,” Julie said. “I'll be there with friends. You should come. Have you ever been?”

Harry pursed his lips. He stood up and brushed off his pants, straightening his shirt over them. Harry tucked a curl behind his left ear. His hair was almost long enough to go without the scarf.

“Nope, can't say I have.”

“It might be fun. The music is usually crap, and the food isn't great, either.”

“Jules, you’re giving me all sorts of incentives to go!” Harry laughed.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty bad, doesn't it?” Julie giggled in response. “But being with friends is fun. You know, getting dressed up, taking pictures, letting yourself go and having a good time. I'd love to see you there! People on the soccer team usually go. Maybe Louis will be there.”

“I'll be where?” They turned around to the sound of Louis’s voice. Louis was jogging out from the school, carrying a heavy workout bag and a backpack. Harry’s smile widened, revealing his front teeth, his eyes wrinkling in affection.

“Hey! Lou!” Julie greeted him. “I was trying to talk Harry into going to the homecoming dance. Can you help?”

Louis’s blue eyes were blazing like gems on fire. He cast his smile at Harry. “What do you think, Harry? Kind of a last-minute invite, but better late than never.”

“Are you asking?” Harry teased in his drawn out, sardonic way. He winked at Louis from a lowered gaze. Louis swore his heart flipped a full revolution.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Louis mockingly complained. “Why do you always… Fine. Harry Styles, will you go to the dance with me?”

Julie looked at them with amusement. She was endeared by their obvious affection for each other, but also disgusted by their shameless flirting. Both of their cheeks were as bright as summer flowers.

“Guys, I'm gone,” she said. Picking up her backpack, she added, “Hope to see you at the dance, you two. You’ll be the best-looking couple.” She turned around and started walking toward the parking lot.

“See ya, Jules,” Harry called after her.

She raised her hand and waved.

“So, for real,” Louis turned toward Harry and persisted. He reached for Harry’s hand. “Harry, will you? Come with me to the dance.”

“Louis—" Harry hesitated. “I don't know. We’ll see. Is that okay? Come on.” He pulled Louis closer and took his elbow. “Let’s have this one night.”

Louis relented. “Yeah, you’re right. Let's not think about anything else. Just this night.”

They turned and began walking to the car. The sun trickled down, a meager wintry warmth in the dry, crackling air.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Looking straight ahead, Harry darted his hand over to try to tickle Louis on his side, but Louis wordlessly, nimbly swiveled his hips out of the way. Harry grabbed again, and Louis took off running, shouting, “Dick!” behind him as he hurtled toward his car.

Louis unlocked the car and stowed everything in the trunk, and let Harry throw his duffel bag in there. They got seated comfortably, buckled their seat belts. Louis turned on the radio, and started humming along. They drove out of the school drive, onto the main road and past the few blocks of city center.

Louis took them out of the city. They were now going past the brown, dried hulls of the meadowlands, the car wheels crunching on dust and dirt. Soon they passed the scrap yard where Louis had picked Harry up the first time.

“Hey, look,” Louis said, gesturing to the scrap yard. “Your shopping mall.”

“You're such an asshole,” Harry exclaimed. He smacked Louis in the thigh.

“Where would you be without me, though?” Louis said, glancing at him. “Still dragging the weight of the world around, that's where.” He reached over and pulled Harry’s hand to himself, to put on his lap. “Stick with me, Styles. I'm all the fun in the world.”

“Yeah, you are,” Harry said. His hand curled to hold Louis’s. “You're pretty amazing, Louis.”

“I'm a very interesting guy,” Louis said smugly. He looked sideways at Harry and they both began laughing uncontrollably.

As they caught their breath, Louis pulled into the graveled parking lot of a hotdog and burger shack, The Haute and Dangerous.

It was a simple, white, clapboard building with blue awnings extending outward. On either side of the building were two shaded parking areas, where people could park and place their orders. A logo of a cartoon dog, dressed like a French waiter with a napkin over one paw, was painted onto the front of the shack. Only one other car was parked on the other side.

“Hotdogs and burgers,” Harry contemplated. “Fantastic.”

“Haute,” Louis said. “And _Dangerous_.” He cocked his head and raised two eyebrows suggestively. “And you’re Mr. Dangerous, babe. You set off all the alarms, like a real criminal.” He watched Harry’s face light up in amusement. “This place has the best burgers in town. Fresh patties, never frozen. And they're gigantic. When I was thinking about tonight, I realized that you never got your chili dog and cheese fries the other time. I feel like I ripped you off, you know. Led you on.”

“Dangerous? Not haute?” Harry mused coquettishly. “Why not haute?”

“‘Course you're haute, babe,” Louis smiled. He reached out to fix a stray curl that had dropped down onto Harry’s forehead. Harry stared at him with a dimpled smile, and Louis reared his head back to laugh. Harry craned his head back in parallel with Louis’s, watching him. He couldn't peel his eyes away. Louis Tomlinson laughing was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You're a whole other level of charming, you know that?” Louis said. Harry leaned forward to kiss Louis. They both closed their eyes, savoring the moment. It was a kiss that should have happened ages ago.

When they pulled apart, a lady in her twenties, dressed in a black skirt and a T-shirt with a tuxedo print, walked toward their car. Louis rolled down his and Harry’s windows.

The lady smiled at them, taking a pad of paper and a pen from her pocket.

“Hey, Lou!” she said. She leaned over and they exchange quick kisses on the cheeks. “Is this your guy?”

“This is Harry,” Louis leaned back, so she could peek in the car. Harry leaned over with a shy smile and waved. “Harry, meet the best waitress in the world, my girl Janis.”

“Hi, Janis,” he said shyly. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Oh, he's cute!” Janis said, glancing at Louis. “And English? Oh boy. He’s a charmer, Lou.”

“He’s alright,” Louis said, lips turned down as if weighing Harry’s merits. He put a hand out flat, and wiggled it. “Not bad.”

“He's pretty fine, if you ask me,” Janis smiled.

“Hey,” Harry pretended to pout. He said indignantly, “I'm right here. I can hear you.”

Janis laughed prettily. “So, do you know what you want yet, guys?” She nodded toward Louis.

“For me, a chili dog, fully loaded,” Louis said. “And my usual, nachos and a strawberry milkshake.”

Harry made an admiring face at Louis’s iron stomach. Wow. That was a _nice_ combo.

“With hot sauce on the dog or without?” Janis asked, her eyes focused on her order pad.

“Janis, for real,” Louis said, deadpan. She looked up at him. “How long have you known me? Do you even need to ask?”

Janis looked down again, ignoring him. “ _With_ sauce. Jalapeños on the nachos?”

“The more jalapeños, the better,” Louis answered. “I don't even want to see the chips under all the cheese and peppers, you feel me, J?” Louis waited for Janis to write his order down, then turned to Harry. “You ready, babe?”

“Do you have something—” Harry scrunched his nose and hemmed, “vegetarian?”

Janis stopped writing and looked up. She stared at Harry as if he’d grown another eye. Harry looked at her innocently.

“Kidding,” Harry finally smiled. Louis slapped him on the elbow and giggled.

Janis rolled her eyes. These two were a handful. They were children, really. They amused each other like kittens scratching with their tiny claws.

“I'll have a burger with lettuce, tomato, ketchup…” Harry said.

“He loves ketchup,” Louis interrupted. Harry slapped him in the thigh. “Ketchup omelets. O-M-G. Orgasmic.”

“...barbecue sauce, and, do you have Brussels sprouts?”

“Sorry?” Janis asked.

“Can you chop up some Brussels sprouts, to put on top of the burger? To add a little crunch. Gordon Ramsay says there should always be color and texture.”

Harry and Louis both looked at Janis with a synchronized swivel of their heads, like meerkats on the African savannah, waiting for her response.

Janis said stoically, “I can put some relish on it.”

“Relish would be brilliant!” Harry said.

Janis jotted it down. “Any fries or drinks?”

“Mm,” Harry deliberated. “I'll just share Louis's nachos.”

“You're not getting my nachos,” Louis said protectively.

Harry ignored him. “And um… do you have banana milkshakes?”

"Yeah, we do." 

"Good choice," Louis said. "They make the best shakes. With real vanilla ice cream. You won't regret it." 

Harry smiled at him, bemused. “An extra-large banana milkshake, please," he said 

“Harry! You're going to pee all the way home,” Louis protested.

“That was my secret plan,” Harry replied.

Janis looked at them sternly, “I’ll be back, you two.”

After a few minutes, Janis brought the milkshakes and the nachos. Harry’s eyes widened at the size of the extra-large milkshake. It must have contained at least three cups.

“Told you,” Louis said.

“Wow,” Harry marveled. There was nothing else to say.

Janus handed them straws and some extra napkins, and then went back to get the burger and hotdog.

“This is something else,” Harry said. “It's a lot.”

“It's the best,” Louis agreed.

“Can I?” Harry gestured toward Louis’s nachos. Louis had made a little picnic space on his lap, with his milkshake in the cup holder and the nachos on top of a napkin opened on his lap.

Louis looked at Harry’s wide, clear green eyes and his beckoning face. He sighed.

“Here, cutie,” he said, handing the container over. “Have a nacho.”

Harry looked at Louis, and they burst into giggles again. It was as if a balloon of laughing gas had burst in the car, and they couldn't help themselves. Harry’s heart felt full and content, a foreign yet completely satisfactory feeling, a thirst quenched in an oasis. He felt as if his face was going to freeze in a permanent smile.

It was a great feeling. He never wanted to feel anything else again.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

“Do you have a favorite constellation?”

Harry and Louis were lying on the warm hood of Louis’s car, a wool blanket wrapped around their bodies. For once, the sky was clear, without clouds or fog. A thin, crescent moon hung high above, the stars dispersed across the vast, inky sky.

“Hmm?” Harry murmured.

His head lay against the crook of Louis's shoulder. The blanket didn't do much to keep out the chill. Inside of it, Harry was snug and warm. But his forehead and the top of his scalp were cold, as were his legs sticking out, below the knees. Harry had taken off his scarf. His curls scattered over Louis's neck, fanned like silky water. They tickled Louis whenever Harry moved.

“Constellation? You know, Aquarius, Gemini, Capricorn…” Louis listed lazily. “Um, besides the calendar ones, I actually can't remember any.”

“You faker.”

Louis snuggled closer to Harry. Louis knew he smelled like chili, hot dogs, and peppers, but he also knew Harry had an entire extra-large milkshake slowly leaking into his bladder. He jiggled Harry’s side to gauge his level of urgency. Harry merely scooted over, thinking Louis wanted more space. _Just wait a little bit_ , Louis thought. He flung his arm over Harry’s belly and gave it a sinister squeeze.

“Isn't that the Big Dipper? Up there,” Louis asked nonchalantly. “You know. Ursa Major, the Big Bear. D’you see it?”

“Where?” Harry craned his neck, rubbing against Louis, who immediately squirmed and giggled. A curl of hair drifted near Louis’ mouth. He blew it away.

“There,” Louis pointed his hand into the air, feeling cold. “You see it? Just to the left. Looks like a pot with a long handle.”

Harry followed Louis’s finger as he traced out the constellation, the tessellation of stars so far away, it took millions of years for the light to reach earth. Some of the stars in the sky were already gone. Only their light remained, zooming through the time.

“If there's a Big Bear,” Harry asked, “is there a Little Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Louis shrugged. “Ursa Minor, isn't it?” He scanned the sky, searching across the ladle of the Great Bear to find its smaller counterpart. “See? There it is.”

He pointed it out. Polaris, the North Star, beamed out intensely from the end of the Little Dipper’s handle. It shone directly overhead, a distant, concentrated ball of fire, the way it had for billions of years, before there were people on earth, before there were dinosaurs or even trilobites.

Harry and Louis stared at the two celestial bears, mirror images flipped upside down from each other, forever suspended in a frozen dance.

“Makes you feel light,” Harry said, after a silence. “Doesn't it? Kind of free.”

“What do you mean?”

“The universe is so enormous, Lou. Earth is tiny compared to the stars, and the stars are just specks in their galaxies. It makes us almost... invisible.”

“And…” Louis turned a few millimeters toward Harry, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. Harry was looking at the sky in a dreamy way, lost in his own thoughts. Louis gave him a little nudge with his chin. “What’s your point, Curly?” 

“I mean,” Harry drawled, “we’re made of atoms. Like rocks, or water, or mosquitoes. We’re barely anything.”

“You talk some deep shit, Harry,” Louis sighed. He buried his head inside the blanket and tucked his head against Harry’s cheek. Harry’s face was cold on top, and warm and breathy on the bottom. Louis smiled when he felt the perky curve of Harry’s lips against his cheek.

Harry was so alive and present, and his thoughts so beautifully pure. He was as pure as an electron’s orbit. Looking back, Louis even loved the times Harry had hurled abuse at him, because it was proof that Harry never lied to him. He had no deception and no artifice. When he had despised Louis, he had despised him with all his heart. Louis _loved_ the purity of Harry’s hatred.

“What does that mean, babe? About the atoms?”

“We’re like the stars,” Harry said evenly and quietly. “We don't have to be great, or famous, or rich, or whatever. We fade in from the stars, and we’ll fade out with the stars. We’re pretty inconsequential, really. It makes me feel— unburdened.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “You're right. Free to be yourself, like.”

“Yeah, you know? No one would miss me,” Harry added, absently, “once I’m gone. Sort of takes all the pressure off.”

Louis glanced over. Harry was staring into the sky with a wistful smile. Without thinking, Louis turned his face toward Harry’s and began kissing his mouth, the warm exhalations like atmospheres orbiting their faces.

He felt Harry purse his lips, and then open them like a flower blossoming, welcoming rain. They kissed each other sweetly and warmly, as if they had known each other’s kisses forever. Louis gripped Harry’s shirt to hold him closer. He could feel Harry smile beneath the kiss when he grabbed him. Harry shifted his arm so it was around Louis’s shoulder. He held him in a comfortable embrace. Harry darted his tongue around Louis’s lips, and then Louis was pressing in, feeling the boy under him rise, turning to him to be surrounded and loved. Louis coated Harry with kisses, his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids. He put his hand in Harry’s hair and felt the luxuriant softness of his curls, the springiness of them. Harry’s forehead, with its few tiny pimples, was high and cool. His hairline was ridiculously pretty. The dark shadows in his hair were devilishly beautiful against the moon’s glow.

“I would,” Louis whispered earnestly.

“What?”

“I would, Harry,” Louis said, more firmly. “I'd miss you. I don't think you’re just atoms.” His lips ghosted over Harry’s, their warmth close enough to feel.

Harry laughed, a small and withheld sound. “Louis…”

“I would miss you so much.” Louis hung on to Harry’s lapels with both hands and pulled him in. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s upper lip. “I would miss you constantly, would miss everything about you. I’d miss your laugh and your jokes, your face, your hairy legs and your toes. I would miss you as if a part of me were missing, like my arm. Stop this talk about atoms. Just stop it. I'd miss you so much, it would feel like someone cut my heart out.”

“Lou, I— ” Harry stammered, “I— I’d miss you too.” His voice was low and scratchy, a rustle in the darkness.

Louis turned his head. Harry’s eyes were staring away, looking anywhere but at him. No, Louis couldn’t have this, not this sadness. 

“Damn it, I'm _not_ going to,” Louis declared. “I don't have to think about missing you. Because it's _not_ going to happen. You're _not_ going to leave. You're going to stay with me.”

Silently, Harry tightened his arm around Louis and brought him closer. His other arm pulled in the small of Louis’s back. Harry sniffed Louis’ hair and breathed in deeply, and Louis held him, feeling his heart beat hard against his chest wall. Each beat was a secret confession. _I trust you. I believe in you. I want to be with you._

Harry held Louis as if he never wanted to let go. Louis knew his eyes were closed, from the fervent way Harry’s fingers dug into his skin. After a moment, Louis felt a warm moisture down his cheek, and he flinched. Pulling away, he saw that Harry’s face was glistening.

“Hey,” Louis said. “No, Harry. Don't cry.”

Harry used his shoulder to wipe his face, looking away. Louis raised one hand to touch Harry’s tears, wiping it off with a thumb. Louis felt Harry starting to pull back, pushing himself from engagement. He could feel a part of Harry still there, rooted to the spot, while the other part of him, the scared, wounded part, was wavering and skittering to run.

“Harry, look at me.”

After a few seconds, Harry turned to face Louis. His dark eyes pierced Louis to the core, just as they had always done. But now Louis could understand their question, framed by a deeply wounded yearning.

“You're not leaving. You can't leave.”

Harry only looked down and away. His lips were set firmly in a thin and miserable line.

“The stars aren't different,” Louis said. “You're right. The stars are as constant as can be, and people come and go. They're the same stars Odysseus used to sail home from the Trojan War.”

He could see Harry’s eyebrow furrow curiosly.

“Galileo watched the same planets orbit around the sun. The Big Bear and the Little Bear were always there.“

Harry’s lips curled up, following Louis's story.

“They stay there for us, Harry. Always there for us.”

A laugh burbled out from Harry. Louis’s trying, God knows. His trying to comfort Harry was everything. A line from a song drifted into his mind.

“The  _king_ _of night vision_ ,” Harry quoted.

“What?” Louis stared at Harry, puzzled. Harry was quirky, but sometimes shit came from left field. 

“The song, d’you know it?” Harry asked a lost and blank-faced Louis. “ _And then I think about my fear of motion, which I could never explain_. No? It’s by the Indigo Girls.”

Louis felt mildly annoyed. Sometimes Harry was so hipster, he could honestly kick his ass. 

“What's it called?” _The Indigo Girls_. What the ever loving fuck?

Harry smiled, a corner of his lip pressing out a dimple. “It's called _Galileo_ , Captain Obvious.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis swore. “Pretentious twat.”

Harry laughed suddenly, and used his arm to wrap around Louis’s head, enfolding Louis’s neck into the crook of his elbow.

“Don't be mad, Little Bear,” he said. “Not everyone has great taste in music. I mean, you have your strengths. You're a pretty good football player.”

“Fuck, you're so annoying,” Louis pushed Harry’s arm away. “I do have good taste in music. Just not stick-up-the-ass taste.”

“I think the word you're looking for,” said Harry, “is _eclectic_.” He gave Louis a nudge. 

Louis shoved him back, and elbowed him in the ribs. “Fucking know-it-all, guess what my favorite star is?”

“Um... I give up. Elvis?” 

Louis stared at him icily.

“I meant a celestial body. Those gas balls, up there.” He spread his hand across the sky. Harry followed the motion of Louis’s fingers. “You know which one it is?” 

The answer flashed into Harry’s mind as soon as Louis asked. He knew, of course.

“Yeah. I do.”

Louis’s brows lifted in surprise. “Which one?”

Harry bit his lips and glanced quickly at the sky, and then back down again.

“Tell me,” Harry replied. He waited expectantly for Louis. “Go on.”

“It’s…” Louis said, watching Harry closely, “Polaris.”

Harry smiled. His voice wavered, “‘Course. The North Star.”

“The brightest star in the sky, the constant one,” Louis answered. “It took him twenty fucking years, but Odysseus followed that star home.”

“A long time ago,” Harry added, gazing up at the star piercing through the millennia.

“It's a matter of perspective,” Louis said, his eyes welling, “isn’t it? A star is just a star, unless it points someone home.”

Harry saw Louis’s emotion, and his chin quivered once more. His bit his teeth and inhaled deeply.

“Little Bear,” he said. His index finger came up to stroke Louis’s cheek. “My Little Bear.”

“I don't care where you are, Harry” Louis said, crumbling. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. We’ll be together in the stars, yeah? I’ll be beaming at you whether you like it or not.”

Harry held him, as if Louis were a small creature breaking apart in his hands. One hand circled his waist and the other rested on Louis’s chest. Harry could feel the bounding heartbeat like stallions.

“Even when it seems darkest, I'll find my way to you.” Louis choked, raising a hand roughly to wipe his face. “You’ll never be alone, as long as you want me. You know that, right?” He looked at Harry. “Promise me.”

Harry stared at him, heart too full to talk. His eyes flickered as words struggled to come. 

“Fucking promise me, Harry.”

Harry answered, slowly so that Louis could absorb each word. He looked at Louis’s distraught face, his cheeks luminous in the moonlight, his Little Bear.

“You are here, Lou.” Harry put a hand to his heart. It felt as if Louis were filling his chest. “Always and forever. The brightest light.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. There are about five more chapters to come. XO 13


	20. Chapter 20

Louis drove through the narrow, dark slopes of Forest Park. He held Harry’s hand in the space between them, his palms dry and warm.

The moon’s pale, ghostly light pulsed through the windows in a staccato rhythm, through the bare and shadowy trees, chasing the car. Louis looked over at Harry. He saw the moonlight, a capricious angel, dash across Harry’s face.

Harry returned his look, then blew a kiss to him. Louis opened his mouth in surprise, caught the kiss between his closed lips, then blew it gently back to Harry.

Harry pretended to catch it in his right hand. He stuffed the kiss into his mouth and chewed, tilting his chin, judging how it tasted. Then he spat the kiss out into his hand, and held it up between his thumb and index finger as if he were holding a butterfly by the wings.

Louis, trying to keep an eye on the road, watched Harry’s performance. Harry closed his eyes and blew on his fingers, and watched the kiss fly away in the space between him and Louis. He turned toward Louis and opened his mouth in an _aha!_ grin.

Louis laughed loudly. Harry’s creativity made every little occurrence incredibly charming. Louis raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed Harry’s hand.

Without thinking, Louis sighed, “I love you.” His laughter escaped between his teeth.

Harry’s head swiveled like a magnet to fix on Louis.

Suddenly realizing what just happened, Louis froze. He turned to check Harry’s bemused expression, then stared straight ahead into the darkness.

“Er— um,” Louis stammered. He bit his lip. “Shit.”

“I love you, too,” Harry finished for him. “Don't sweat it, LB.”

“LB?”

Harry stared at Louis with his crinkled, mesmerizing eyes until Louis got it.

“Oh, for crying out…” Louis said. “Little Bear. You curly-haired cunt.”

Harry barked out a laugh.

“Don't make fun of me, Harry,” Louis said. “It just came out. You were being cute, and I just— you didn't have to, like, roast me.”

“I love you, too,” Harry said. “That's my answer, because it's true. Because I mean it. Your reaction, on the other hand, is _bloody_ embarrassing.”

“ _You're_ fucking embarrassing, you sap,” Louis said, enunciating each syllable, mortified to the bone. He shoved Harry with their hands, still held tightly together. Louis turned his head away from Harry to hide his grin.

Harry shoved back playfully. “Don't be ashamed, LB,” Harry winked at him. “You're cute when you're caught. Anyway, I know what you mean.”

Louis chewed his lips. Regardless of how it happened, hearing Harry say _I love you_ was pretty fucking awesome. Louis’s insides were golden jelly, even if Harry meant it only in a light, friendly way.

Louis looked at Harry and wondered whether he should pursue it. The moment had passed. Oh well. He decided to move on.

“Listen, H,” Louis said, changing the topic, “if you change your mind.”

“On what?”

“About the homecoming dance,” Louis finished. “I could pick you up. The game should be over by four, plus two hours to drive back, so, maybe around 7:30? We could get some dinner. Your pick this time.”

Louis glanced at Harry hopefully. Harry paused for a while before he answered.

“Would we go as a couple?” Harry asked, his voice slow and quiet.

Louis thought he sounded almost like he was teasing, yet there was seriousness, too. It was as if Harry didn't dare put too much weight in it.

“Of course,” Louis declared. “I’d like to. I want everyone to know. I want them to be jealous of me and my gorgeous boyfriend.” Louis paused. “What do you think?”

“Okay,” Harry said simply. Louis could tell Harry was beaming. “Maybe.”

“Really?” Louis turned excitedly. “Don't lead me on, Styles. I'm serious. Once you make me think of slow dancing with you, I swear, if I can't…”

“Really,” Harry dimpled. “I'll check with my mum, see what her plans are.”

“God, Harry, you have to convince her,” Louis insisted. “Beg, cajole, sweet talk, whine, blackmail. Do what you have to do, babe,” Louis raised his eyebrows.

“Aren't you quite the thesaurus?” Harry teased. His eyes twinkled with flirtation and amusement, to see Louis so happy. “I'll see what I can do.”

Louis glowed. His plan was moving along nicely. He felt pleased with himself.

Harry waited a few seconds, and then asked, softly, “Um, Lou?”

“Hmm?”

Louis watched Harry turn his head to look out the darkened window, and then turn back. He looked down at his hand, hesitant. “Just now, did you call me your boyfriend?”

Louis looked at Harry sideways. “Yeah, I did.”

Harry shifted in his seat. Louis glanced to check his demeanor. Harry seemed to straighten up and sit a little taller. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Louis asked him, gently.

Harry looked shyly at Louis, equally charmed and elated. “Yeah, okay.”

Louis squeezed Harry's hand and happily felt a squeeze back. His face was going to break from feeling this way, like someone threw a thousand chocolate cream pies at him, and he had all the time in the world to lick them off.

“Harry, if you want me to,” Louis added, “I could talk to your mom. I am very persuasive.”

“I'm afraid you don't know her,” Harry said, more quietly than before. “She's pretty persuasive too.”

They pulled into Harry’s driveway and up the gentle slope to the house. The bushes on either side of the drive seemed to close in, brushing their dry, stiff branches against the car. The car moved slowly ahead, the headlights plowing a path through the dark, the night falling down behind them.

As they got closer to the house, Louis could see that the single light on the front porch was on. The light on the opposite side was still out. The dark silhouette of an unfamiliar car was parked in front of the garage, a hibernating beast. A light was on inside the house as well. The amber incandescence signaled that someone was there. Suddenly the most domestic of images was a disturbance in the night. A few house lights brought on an unexpected disquiet.

Louis looked over to Harry.

Harry glared down and became silent, his mood turning 180 degrees. His breathing even seemed to become constricted, so that his chest was barely moving.

“Hey,” Louis said, “babe.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. Louis heard a stiffness in his voice. “She's here early.”

Louis ran his hand up Harry’s arm and touched him by the elbow. He was at a loss as to what to do.

Then the front door opened. Someone came out of the door, shielding a hand against the forehead, gazing out at the driveway and Louis's car. Louis could see this person pull his or her sweater or coat closer, and start walking toward them. It was a lady, with Harry’s tall frame and dark hair.

Harry sat quietly with his eyes focused on the floor in front of him. When Anne finally came to stand next to the car, Louis motored the windows down. Harry didn't look up.

“Harry,” Anne said, with a quick, curious glance in Louis's direction. “Darling, it’s nice to see you.”

Anne had a rich and soothing Northern English voice. Her eyes were as bright and lively as Harry’s, her lips as expressive. She had a mirroring dimple next to the corner of her mouth, just like Harry’s.

“Mum,” Harry turned and looked at Anne. He leaned forward as she gave him a hug and a kiss. “When did you get here?”

“Why don't you come inside?” Anne said. “I just got here. Haven't had a chance to do anything, really. Come on, come in. It's cold out here.” She bent down to look through the window at Louis. “Hi! I'm Harry’s mother, Anne.”

“Hi!” Louis said. He thought about reaching across to shake hands, but settled for a friendly wave. “I'm Louis.”

“Would you like to come in, Louis?” Anne asked politely.

“Please, Lou,” Harry turned to Louis. “Come in with me.” Louis saw Harry’s strained expression, and his throat tightened. It wouldn't be a great idea to interrupt Harry’s reunion with his mother, would it?

“Maybe just for a second,” Louis said, trying to keep his voice cheerful. He exchanged a quick glance with Harry, who tipped his chin almost imperceptibly at him. Louis closed the windows and turned the engine off. He got out of the car with Harry, then locked the doors.

They walked up to the house, Anne first, followed by Harry, and then Louis. Louis felt the warmth from the car dissipate from his body. The cold air snuck into the crevices of Louis's clothes, under his pants, inside his sleeves. It reached between the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. He shivered. Louis watched Harry walk just ahead, his long legs shuffling slowly.

Once inside, Louis saw that nothing much had changed. Harry’s sculptures were still hanging on the walls, and the large tarp and metallic pieces were still in the living room. Harry’s shoes were scattered across the foyer like mismatched confetti. The smell of dust and metal lingered like an old friend. Louis almost breathed a sigh of relief.

“I'm sorry you have to see this mess,” Anne said to Louis. “I just arrived and haven't had a chance to straighten up.”

“Oh, no, it's okay,” Louis said politely. “Our house is worse. I have four sisters, so it’s always a party.” He turned and closed the door behind himself. “Did you have a good trip? Harry said you were driving from New Jersey.”

“I did, thanks,” Anne said. She looked to Harry, who still didn't meet her eyes. “I started early this morning. I figured I’d beat the weekend crowd. Not much traffic on the road, so I was able to make good time.”

She led them into the kitchen. Harry left them to go use the restroom. That banana milkshake had finally caught up with him. Louis saw a few grocery bags on the counter. There were other things, too: a water bottle, a glass jar, a box of granola bars, a roll of paper towels, and a travel cup for coffee. Anne must have just been unpacking. After a short time, Harry came back.

“Harry, I brought you your Branston pickle,” Anne said. “I just haven't got any bread, and you don't have any either, I see. Well, we could get some tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Thanks, mum,” Harry said. His hand strayed to the counter. He ran his fingers along the top of the counter, his eyes cast down.

“You don't have anything to drink here, either,” Anne said, turning to Harry. “Louis, could I offer you a glass of water?”

“Sure, yeah,” Louis said. “That’d be great, thanks.” Louis’s eyes traveled between Harry and Anne. “Actually, I'll use the restroom first.”

“Just down the hallway,” Anne said, “on the right.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis said. He wandered in the dark until he saw the opened door of the bathroom. Louis locked the door, and wondered about the odd, hostile vibe he got between Harry and his mother. They hadn't seen each other in a while. Shouldn't they be more… well, _happy_? He peed, washed his hands, and came back to the kitchen. Anne looked up at him.

“Do you and Harry go to the same school?” Anne asked Louis. She poured out a cup of water for Louis. “I can never remember where he is now.”

“Yeah, actually we do.” Louis answered. He sipped the water carefully. “We’re in the same art class.” After a moment, when no one else said anything, Louis added, “I don't know if Harry mentioned it? His metal sculpture is in a national art competition.”

“Oh?” Anne turned to Harry. “I didn't know. Harry?”

“It’s just through the regional schools’ arts program,” Harry said. “It's not a big deal.”

“But it's an accomplishment,” Anne said. “I wish you’d told me, Harry. You have some pieces here that aren't bad— some might even be interesting. When is the competition?”

“Dunno,” Harry muttered. “Later this year.”

Louis whipped his head up to stare at Harry. He was surprised how curt Harry was being to his mother. Anne seemed to expect Harry’s response. Still, she didn't seem happy about it. She frowned. Her lips were stern.

“Where is it going to be?” Anne asked.

“Don't remember,” Harry answered, not bothering to look up.

There was an awkward pause. Harry took out a mug from the cabinet and poured water for himself. He took the mug to the table and sat down, sipping the water quietly.

Louis cleared his throat awkwardly. “Washington D.C., wasn't it, Harry? I thought that's where you said the competition would be.”

Harry didn't answer but continued drinking his water. Louis felt uncomfortable, as if he were in the no man’s land between Harry and Anne.

“Well, that’s not too far from where we’ll be, Harry,” Anne said. “We could drive down together. Shouldn't be more than three, three-and-a-half hours. Might make a nice weekend of it.”

“Sorry?” Louis blurted out. “I didn't catch that. Where will Harry be?”

“We’re near Morristown, New Jersey,” Anne said. “It's convenient to New York City, too. Just outside. Not far on the train. Have you ever been to New York, Louis?”

Louis looked at Harry, who looked back at him with a dark, panicked expression.

“No, I can't say that I…” Louis’s voice trailed off. His mind went blank.

“You should visit us,” Anne said. “Harry sometimes has a hard time making new friends. Isn't that right, darling? He has so much going on in his mind. He'll be in a new environment, and that's always hard for him, I'm sure a visit from an old friend would make the transition so much easier.”

Louis stared into the ether of the words, each one bringing him lower into his private darkness. He forgot where he was, for an instant— forgot that Harry was only a few feet away.

Finally, his attention snapped back to the present. Pieces of information drifted around him. He felt dizzy with it, as if he were a person walking through a house of mirrors. He wasn't sure what to do with all these facts. He just needed space, the cool air. He wanted to talk to Harry alone, but this wasn't the time or place.

“I guess I should go,” he said. “Uh… it was really nice to meet you, Anne.” Louis turned toward Anne and extended his hand.

“Wait, Lou,” Harry interrupted. He stood up. “I'll walk you out.”

Anne shook Louis's hand.

“I hope we meet again soon,” she smiled. She looked at Harry as they walked out.

Once outside, Louis put his hands up to his face and rubbed all over. Harry stood beside him, not daring to touch him.

“Lou—”

“Wow,” Louis exhaled. “You’re right, H. Your mother is a very persuasive person.” His voice broke at the end of the sentence. Louis gulped so he would stop the heaving inside.

They walked slowly to the car. When Louis unlocked the doors, Harry took Louis’s hand, and brought it to his own chest.

“Louis,” he began again.

“I don't… I can't,” Louis stammered. He looked up at Harry, at his apologetic expression. “Did you know, Harry? Did you know you were definitely leaving?”

“Mum’s been trying to get me to come with her for a couple of months,” Harry replied, “since school started, really. I just didn't want to.”

Louis was familiar with this side of Harry. He reached up and touched Harry's cheek. “Stubborn.”

“Dad always said that real artists choose,” Harry said. “I chose.”

“Your mother is an artist, too, it seems.”

“And a mum. She can't help that,” Harry said. “I miss her, too, Louis, a lot.” He paused and looked to the side. “I stayed here because I wanted a space of my own. I didn't care how hard it was. I was tired of being led around….”

“You wanted to control your life.”

Harry looked at Louis. He brushed Louis’s hair back, to see his dark blue eyes in the moonlight. Louis’s hair was soft, his skin warm to touch.

“I thought it was just the walking; I could handle that. I was getting used to it. No one knew… well, almost no one. Liam. Julie. Now you. I just didn't expect...“ Harry’s voice trailed off.

“Us,” Louis finished for him.

Harry nodded imperceptibly. “You.”

“No one expects the Tommo attack,” Louis joked, his voice suffused with sadness. “That's my main strategy. That's why we’re the state champs.”

Harry breathed out a soft laugh. He brought Louis’s hand up to his lips and grazed each finger, one at a time, his tenderness cutting into Louis like darts. Louis felt the throbbing in his chest again, riding into his throat.

“How long, Harry? Until you leave?”

“I don't know,” Harry answered. “A few days, maybe. This time mum seems determined. She drove all this way in one day. That's when I know she means business.”

“But we…” Louis’s voice trailed off. Just an hour ago, they were lying under the stars, exchanging kisses and jokes, embraces and warmth. Just a few minutes ago, Harry had been his boyfriend. They had been planning to go to the homecoming dance, like a proper couple. Louis’s biggest problem had been where to go for dinner, which suit to wear. He and Harry had only spent one night together, and it was so little time. Louis wanted so much more with Harry.

But then he remembered that Harry had said. “Let’s just have this night.” Now he understood Harry’s meaning.

Harry hadn’t wanted to fall in love. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Louis. But it was too late.

Love wasn't something they could control. Love wasn't a matter of timing or convenience. Even in the most impractical, illogical circumstances, they had slowly, irrevocably fallen in love. Their feelings had found each other and entwined together, reached into the darkness and found a home with each other, circumstances be damned.

“It hurts,” Louis said. “Harry.”

“Sweetheart,” Harry murmured. He pulled Louis to himself into a deep embrace. They clung to each other, loving each other against reality. Every second stretched into a lifetime, yet rushed them to the finish line.

Louis buried his face into Harry’s body. He breathed in Harry’s salty, sweet scent, thinking that he could not get enough; it was never enough. He spoke against Harry’s shirt, his voice muffled.

“It hurts so much, Harry,” Louis said. “I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want you. But I’d rather be here than anywhere else.” He felt Harry’s chest tremble erratically, the silent sobs worse than any sound he could make. “It's worth it. For you.”

Louis put his ear against Harry’s chest. Harry’s heart seemed to bound out of the rib cage into Louis’s head, crashing loudly and steadily.

“Don't leave,” Louis asked, tears stinging his eyes. The selfishness of love battled with the selfishness of art, and Louis tried. He tried.

“Harry, please don't leave me. Don't leave. Don't leave.”

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

People passed Louis in the hallway. Some shouted encouragements to him. They swarmed noisily as the school day ended, another Friday done, another week over, another weekend on the horizon. Students laughed and protested and rough-housed with each other. They threw papers and other objects, ate candy, littered. Boys pushed each other into lockers. Some students shoved opened cigarette packs and lighters into their pockets. The asynchronous music of slamming lockers marked the end of the school day.

It might be the weekend of the state soccer tournament, but for some people, it was just another weekend. Louis envied their blissful ignorance. He walked with an anxious urgency toward his locker. Because the game was tomorrow, there was no practice today. Training was done for the season; that meant it was done for Louis’s entire high school career. There hadn't been a week in the last four years when he hadn't thought about soccer. Barring a few holidays, there hadn't been a week when he didn't think about training and conditioning.

Louis had a strange, suspended sense of emptiness inside, neither happy nor sad, only a capacious, numb, yawning void. He closed his locker and started walking down the hallway. He was planning on starting his two-hour drive at seven the next morning.

“Good luck on the game tomorrow!” someone said.

“Good luck, Louis!”

Niall caught up to him and struggled to keep up. Niall had to walk so fast and swerve so much, his books were slipping from his grip. He cursed as another kid bumped into his shoulder, jostling his hand.

“Tommo!” Niall growled loudly. “Where’s the fire, man?”

Louis didn't answer, but kept plowing straight ahead. Students separated to let him pass, and then closed again in front of Niall, obstructing his progress.

“Mother. Fucker,” Niall cursed. He pushed his way to Louis, and grasped his elbow. Louis turned, startled to see him.

“What's going on, Louis? Why are you in such a rush?”

“Huh?” Louis seemed distracted. “Oh, sorry, man. I guess, I'm— um— just want to get home.”

Niall looked him over and narrowed his eyes. He knew Louis inside out, knew him better than Louis knew himself, in some ways. They hadn't ridden to school together every day for three years for nothing. He could almost watch Louis and hear what he was thinking.

Niall saw the slight dip of Louis's mouth, the way his eyes looked away, his lashes cascading down. He saw Louis trying to avoid talking.

“Louis, what the fuck,” Niall said. He pulled Louis into an empty classroom to the side of the hallway. It was the freshman English classroom. _Great_. Nothing ever got done here anyway. “You want to talk about it?”

“What, you mean the game?” Louis deflected, not meeting Niall’s eyes. “Nah. I'm alright. I’m amped; I'm ready to go.”

“No,” Niall sighed, exasperated. “Lou. Come on.”

Louis looked into Niall’s pale blue eyes, into his concerned face. Niall had been his best friend since fifth grade. Louis had seen Niall pee a million times, had seen his butt cheeks fiery red from an unfortunate suntan experiment. He’d seen Niall throw up on a cat at a New Year’s Eve party, after one rum-and-Coke too many.

Moreover, Niall knew that Louis was gay. Niall knew about his dates. Niall knew Louis’s most embarrassing moments, and a few of his celebrity crushes. Louis could tell Niall anything.

“I—” Louis stopped. He swallowed and looked down.

Niall waited for Louis to say something more. Nothing came. With one swift motion Niall slapped Louis on the cheek. Not hard, just hard enough to hurt. Louis looked up, shocked, but somehow, not surprised.

“Lou,” Niall said. “Tell me.”

Louis knew this was Niall at his most caring, when he became impatient and mildly destructive— blunt, literal, not fucking around.

“I'm in love with Harry.” The words tumbled out of Louis. Suddenly, it was out there.

He watched Niall breathlessly.

“I knew it!” Niall twirled around, smacking his forehead. “I fucking knew it. I knew you were acting strange for a reason. It's got nothing to do with the game!” Niall guffawed, pleased with himself. “You were lovesick all along, you ridiculous human. I saw you, in art class. Don't deny it. With your heart eyes and your shitty grin. Harry’s exactly your type, just the kind of— fucking— handsome— brooding— fucker…”

“Ni, leave me alone,” Louis grumbled. “I have to go.”

“But why?” Niall frowned. “Oh! Is he waiting for you? Harry? Is that why you're in such a hurry?”

“Niall,” Louis said, heading for the door, “did you notice? Harry wasn't it school today. His mom’s here, from New Jersey, and they might be leaving forever, and… God, it's a long story. I don't have time…”

Niall grabbed his things and started pushing Louis out the door.

“Then why are you wasting time here, lover boy?” Niall said. “Let's get a move on. Let's go find him.”

Louis smiled grimly. He gathered his things and headed out the door, Niall right next to him. They merged into the thinning stream of straggling students.

“Coming through!” Niall yelled unnecessarily, to no one in particular. “Excuse us! Thank you. Coming through!”

They ran down the hallways and out the door to the parking lot. Cars were leaving one by one, a slow line of them snaking toward the main driveway out of the school.

“Lou,” Niall said, “I can get a ride with Stan or James. I’ll give ‘em a call. You don't need to take me.”

“No, it's alright,” Louis said. “If you don't mind, Niall. I could really use the company.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Niall said. He watched Louis brush hair out of his face. Louis seemed both distracted and emotional. They got into the car. Niall threw his things into the backseat. Louis started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

“So, like,” Niall ventured as Louis drove out of the school grounds. “How long? Have you, you know, had this thing for Harry.”

“I'm not even sure,” Louis answered. “I don't know. Maybe the first time he walked into art class.”

“Whew,” Niall whistled, impressed. “What. You got it bad, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Louis said. He glanced quickly at Niall, and then fixed his eyes back on the road.

“And Harry? What does he think?”

“It's mutual,” Louis said, slowly and reflectively. “We’ve discussed it.”

“Shit!” Niall exclaimed. He stared straight into the horizon, mentally bludgeoned by the power of love. “You guys are, like, _together_. Shit.”

“Yeah.”

They drove past the scrap yard. Both of them glanced at it, and then looked at each other. Niall half expected to see Harry’s tall figure dragging his bag of metal scraps along the road, a puff of dust behind him. It had only been a few weeks ago. The subdued, empty shoulders of the road suddenly made him feel depressed.

“What happens now?” Niall asked.

They entered the darkened hills of Harry’s neighborhood, the hairpin turns familiar to Louis who, by now, could probably drive them blindfolded. He kept his eyes out for the secluded driveway covered by brown leaves, and Harry’s stumpy mailbox with his last name and house number.

“I don't know,” Louis answered.

Art asked for imagination, but everything Louis imagined was either improbable or terrible.

Louis made the turn into Harry’s driveway and slowly climbed the hill. As they approached the house, both Louis and Niall saw some large cardboard boxes outside, near the garage. They were stacked to the rim with metallic pieces, some of them rusty. Louis noticed that Anne’s car was gone from its previous spot as well. His pulse sped up. _Don't panic,_ he thought _. He wouldn't. He wouldn't just take off without saying good-bye._

Louis parked the car, and then he exchanged a look with Niall. The house was dark and silent. The afternoon still had a glimmer of gray, pearly light, but the darkness of the windows gave the house an air of desolation.

“We should check,” Niall said.

“Yeah.”

They both got out of the car and walked to the front door. Louis glanced at the porch lights, neither of which was switched on. He couldn't quite remember which one was broken now, his perception of space and time altered by his mental state. He rang the doorbell and waited, and then, after a few minutes, rang it again.

After some time, Louis peered inside the windows next to the door. It was hard to see anything. The frosted glass blocked out most of the details inside. Louis noticed that the floor of the foyer seemed to be clean, however. There seemed to be no shoes, or any other objects. He breathed a little faster.

“No shoes,” Louis said to Niall.

“What?”

“His shoes are gone,” Louis said. “Harry’s shoes. They were scattered on the floor. They're all gone.”

Niall reached out and touched Louis on the forearm. He saw that Louis had his Overtime Game Face on, a look of pure determination, concealing his disappointment and worry. The Face plowed on despite every obstacle, not giving up until the last second, until the last kick was attempted and the last whistle blew.

“His mom must have cleaned up,” Niall said. “She probably didn't like the mess.”

Louis nodded. Where was Harry? He pulled out his phone to send Harry a text.

 _Where r u_?

The three responding dots greeted him mutely, hovering in potential space. After staring at his phone for a while, Louis clicked it off.

“He's not here,” Louis said.

“Let’s go home,” Niall said. “I'm sure it's okay. He’ll turn up, Louis. He knows it's your big game this weekend, right?”

“Harry’s not coming to the game,” Louis said. “He already told me. He already told me so many things, Niall. I should have listened to him.”

“What kind of things?” Niall tilted his head, puzzled. Louis’s worry was contagious. Niall brought a hand up and started to bite his nails.

“He never promised he could come,” Louis answered. “He said he liked to be light and free, and not to have expectations or pressure. He wanted to just enjoy the night… the night of our second date, and like an idiot I…”

“You're not an idiot,” Niall interrupted. “You love him.”

Louis turned and paced, the pieces falling in place, all of his disappointments and worries stacking like pieces in the game Tetris.

“He said he wanted to disappear like air, Niall. Fuck!” Louis raised his voice. He ran his hand through his hair. “Harry didn't want anyone to miss him. He didn't want me to miss him. But he doesn't mean it! He doesn't. He loves, just as much, just as deeply as I do. I know him.”

“So… what should we do?”

Louis sighed, pacing. “Nothing. I'll take you home. We’ll play a kickass game tomorrow, and we’re going to bring home the trophy for a third time. We’ll play the best game of our lives, Ni. No question about it. We’re going to get our heads in the fucking game, and we’re going to win.”

Niall looked at Louis, and then he turned around and started walking to the car.

“Come on, Lou. Let’s go,” Niall said, walking. “There’s no point wallowing here. You're our captain. I’m going to follow you, no matter what. I got your back.”

Louis followed Niall, his mouth set with determination. It was no great disaster, losing Harry, he told himself. He wished he could believe that. _You're a liar,_ his heart said. _A fucking terrible liar._

“You're going to lead,” Niall said, “and you’ll be great. You know the team like no one else. You can say the things that keep the team going, Lou. You lead by example. And Harry… he's gonna turn up, you know. He will.”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “I know. It's alright, I know.”

After Louis dropped Niall off at his house, he turned toward his own home. He thought about heading back to Harry’s, but then reflected on the futility of it. What if Harry was still gone? What if Harry was… _gone_. But Harry wasn't like that. Harry loved him. He had said so. Even in a lighthearted, noncommittal way, he had promised Louis in so many words. Harry wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it.

From the first time they kissed, Louis knew that he and Harry belonged together. They had connected like twin flames. Harry couldn't have just left. Not like that.

Louis pulled into his own driveway and sat thinking about Harry, already missing him acutely.

Louis shut off the car engine and exited, locking the doors. As he went into the house, he heard his sisters’ voices in the kitchen. He could hear that they were arguing about which YouTube cover of _Through_ _the_ _Dark_ , by One Direction, was the best one.

Louis grabbed the orange juice from the refrigerator and poured himself a glass.

“She has the best voice,” Fizzy was saying, “and the note changes were brilliant.”

“But this girl’s great, too,” Lottie said. “And her make-up— that highlighter? On point.”

“That might be true,” Fizzy said. “But the first girl plays the guitar herself. Her set-up is better, I think. The recording’s better too. I seriously think she could perform in public.”

Louis sipped his orange juice as he watched them talk. He was about to reach for his phone, to send another text to Harry, when it caught his eyes. Resting innocuously on the countertop, the box’s shape and silvery matte color jumped out at him. He walked toward the counter in the center island of the kitchen.

With a trembling hand, he picked it up. It was unique and unmistakable, even though he had seen it only once. The small, metallic box with the intricate, ancient-appearing lock felt smooth and cold. It seemed to transmit a dispassionate electricity.

“How did this get here?” Louis whirled around, nearly shouting. He glared at Fizzy, and then Lottie.

“Oh,” Lottie said, looking at Louis as though he were possessed. “Harry dropped it off.”

“When?” Louis demanded. Fizzy and Lottie exchanged looks. Louis was acting almost scary. “Why didn't you guys say anything? Harry was here?”

“Yeah, like, a half an hour ago? He was looking for you. I said I'd give it to you,” Lottie said.

“Why, what’s the deal with the box, anyway?” Fizzy asked. “What's inside?”

“Did he say where he was going?” Louis asked. “Did he leave a message? Or anything else? Think, guys. It's really important.”

Lottie answered, “He just said to give it to you. He said you would know what it was.”

Fizzy asked again, “What is it?”

Louis looked at the locked box, with no way to open it. Harry had left no note. Louis turned it over and over, trying to find some clue, something previously overlooked. He knew there had to be some reason that Harry had given him the box. It wasn't just a cute parting gift.

Louis took the box and walked upstairs, to his room. His feet climbed the steps one at a time, automatically. He wracked his brain. Why did Harry give him the box? It was his secret— no, his _private_ — treasure. He had spent months working on it. What was his meaning in giving it away?

Suddenly Louis realized why it felt different. He picked it up, raised it to his ears, and shook.

It was empty. Harry had taken out the aquamarine crystal.

Louis pictured Anne driving Harry to his house, so that Harry could give him the box. Louis walked to his bedroom window and looked out. He half-expected Harry to appear on the lawn, shouting up at him, but of course that wasn't going to happen. All of Louis’s fierce thinking wasn't going to make him appear.

What did it mean? What did Harry mean by giving him his box? Louis thought about it. He held the box as if holding the riddle of Harry, trying every way to open him up.

Then it dawned on him.

Louis had noticed, the very first time that he went to Harry’s studio, that everything Harry made with metal was abstract. The only realistic, functional thing was this box. The box was a representation of Harry’s safe place, a place he had drawn over and over in his book, a place he created meticulously and protected with a lock that only he could open. And he had placed himself inside.

Now he had entrusted it to Louis, but had taken himself out. Louis had become his safe place.

The two pieces were separated, each person possessing his distinct part. Louis looked down at the box with a painful tenderness. His hand closed tightly around it, his palm turning white from the pressure. He wished he could wrap his entire soul around it, that Harry could feel him doing it.

The box was Harry’s most private possession. Now it was Louis’s. The box itself hadn't changed, but it had become profoundly meaningful with the singular act of giving.

“Perspective,” Louis whispered, his voice breaking. There was no one to hear him. The light of the window palely illuminated the box.

Harry was saying goodbye. He had given Louis everything.

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

Two minutes into overtime.

Louis was leading the drive down the field. He kicked the ball to Niall, near the sidelines, and waited for Niall to pass back for an angled shot from the right side of the field. Louis dribbled the ball, twisting back to avoid two defenders coming at him from either side. He passed the ball back to Niall and ran left.

Out of the corner of Louis’s eye, he saw Harry running parallel to him. But it couldn't be. Louis’s eyes were playing tricks on him. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and looked again. James was skirting between the defenders but ran forward to avoid being trapped offside.

Louis was set up for the goal kick. He signaled to Niall. Niall passed.

Louis drilled the ball, not toward the goal, but back to Niall, who had come forward, and who then passed to James, standing left of goal. James powered the ball toward the near post of the goal, almost at the speed of light, faster than the goalie could anticipate.

The ball curved around the post and went in.

They were the new state champs.

 

  
•••

 

The icy rain lent a ferrous, magnetic darkness to the early evening. The air crackled with loose charge. Quick, sharp shards of precipitation had begun to fall, just after the game ended. At first Louis thought it was just the icy Gatorade being poured on him, but then he realized that some of the sleeting drops came from the sky.

He showered and put on layers of warm, dry clothes— a wool, long-sleeve T-shirt underneath, then a thick school sweatshirt, then his letter jacket. He stuffed all the dirty clothes into a big plastic bag and shoved everything into his workout bag.

Louis’s whole family had come to cheer him and the team. They all wore the school colors, and Lottie had painted the school mascot, a crimson muskrat, on all the girls’ cheeks.

Louis focused intensely on the game, not allowing his mind to stray one second from what was happening on the pitch, not thinking at all about Harry or Anne or New Jersey. He was thinking attack, strategy, defense, pacing, the other team’s forwards and defenders, their particular strengths and weaknesses. The afternoon was cold, and the players jogged on the sidelines to keep warm, blowing on their hands. In the second half, Stan had to come out of the game after twisting his ankle. They were down one starter, but their lineup was so strong, his absence was easily filled. Louis watched the clock tick down, the score tied at 1-1 for the entire second half. Several drives had been blocked. A penalty kick for each side had failed to score.

When they finally won, Louis was overwhelmed by a feeling of fatigue. It was the peak experience of his high school soccer career. People ran at him from everywhere, a giant, moving amoeba of soccer players, coaches, and other students. They were shouting and laughing and crying. Louis shouted and laughed, too, his mind too overcome with concentration, too full with love for the camaraderie he shared with his teammates, their willingness to undergo pain, their absolute discipline. His team was magnificent and triumphant.

Louis walked, following the exit signs in the deserted hallways, and gazed down at his phone. There was a string of texts from his teammates’ group chat. His friends were planning to meet up at the dance tonight. Some of them were coming with dates. A large group had a reservation to meet up at a restaurant back home and go together. Stan had asked Louis whether he wanted to come with them in person, just before he took off.

Louis heard footsteps running to catch up behind him. He turned around and saw Niall in his sweats and letter jacket. Niall was wearing the glasses he disliked, a handsome, studious jock with a head of wet hair. He looked like an adorable, half-wet sheepdog.

“Hey,” Niall said. “You alright?”

“Ni,” Louis greeted him. “Are you all set with a ride?”

“Yeah,” Niall answered. "My family’s just waiting for me in the foyer. They're all hyped about the win, ‘course. I think we’ll hang out here for dinner, then drive home.” Niall studied Louis, whose calm and joy were mixed with melancholy. “You want to join us?”

Louis laughed appreciatively. “Thanks, Niall. I think I'm going to head back.”

They walked out through one of the glass exit doors, stopping under the roof of the school to watch the cold drizzle sparkle and twirl under the lights of the darkening parking lot.

“Did you hear from him?” Niall asked quietly.

“What?” Louis answered, distracted. “Oh. No, not yet.”

“ _Yet_?” Niall said. “So, you were expecting to?”

“I don't know,” Louis said. “I'm not sure what to do, Niall. He's not answering my phone calls or texts.”

“Lou,” Niall said, watching Louis closely, his wet hair turning to a shell in the icy temperature. “I'm sorry. I wish I could help.”

“Ni, you're the best. You know that?” Louis smiled. “It's alright. Thanks for worrying about me. You go back to your family. I think I'll start heading back now.”

“It's icy,” Niall said. He clapped a hand to Louis’s shoulder. “Be careful. Drive slow.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Suddenly emotional, Niall pulled Louis in for a bear hug. Louis rested his chin on Niall’s shoulder, feeling Niall’s love envelope him. Niall hugged Louis dramatically, his hands tightly grasping Louis’s back.

“Louis, thanks for the last four years,” Niall said, his voice thickened. “It's been great. It’s been a privilege to play with you.”

“We had some good times, didn't we?” Louis agreed. “The best. I'll never forget it. Even if we hadn't won today, it's been the best time of my life. I'm so glad we did it together, Niall. I couldn't imagine having a better best friend.”

“Me too, buddy,” Niall said. He slapped Louis on the back a few times, and then they broke apart. “Alright, man, go find him.”

“Okay,” Louis said, smiling. “Will do. See you Monday?”

“Monday? What about the homecoming dance!” Niall remembered. “Tonight. You coming? I mean, if you find Harry?”

Louis chuckled. “One thing at a time, young Niall.”

“Alright, Lou.” Niall watched Louis walk into the drizzling rain, carrying his bag on one shoulder, reaching into his pocket for his keys. “Good luck.”

 

•••

 

Louis turned on the radio to a Top 40 station to keep his mood up, and hummed as he drove along the darkening highway. He was glad that Lottie decided to go home with the rest of the family, so that he would have some time to think by himself. The cheerful bass beats and dance rhythms drowned out the steady rhythm of the rain. Eventually, the rain stopped altogether, and Louis felt lighter, more cheerful and optimistic, even as the afternoon grew into evening.

Just as he pulled off the highway, his phone rang. Louis didn't hear it as much as he heard the vibrations where he had laid it in his lap. He clicked it on before even checking the number.

“Louis?” a girl’s voice said.

“Julie,” Louis said. “Is that you?”

“Congratulations on the win!” she said. “The whole school is so proud of you. And the whole team, of course. You guys did so great!”

“Thanks, Jules,” Louis said. “It was a team effort.”

“I was wondering,” Julie said. “Did you find Harry? Are you still planning to come to the dance?”

Louis sighed. “I haven't, Julie. I'm actually headed to his house now. Niall and I were there last night. No one was home. Just a lot of scrap metal outside, like they were cleaning out the house.”

“Oh,” Louis heard Julie go quiet. “Where is he, do you think?”

“Harry’s mom came on Thursday night,” Louis said. “She mentioned taking him back to New Jersey.”

“No!” Julie exclaimed. “It can't be right away, can it? No.” She paused for a second. “Oh, Louis.”

“I'll let you know,” Louis said. “I hope I'm not too late.”

“I really hope you find him. Drag him to the dance, if you have to. We’re all going to be there, waiting for you two.” 

“Wish me luck, Julie. I’m gonna try.”

“Of course, good luck. Find him, Lou. Don’t let him go.” 

Louis turned toward Harry’s neighborhood, and drove until he arrived at Harry’s house. The sky was clearing. The ground was damp and shiny, but there was no rain or snow, only a frosty chill.

Louis drove up the hilly driveway, and was surprised to see the lights of the house on, with Anne’s car parked in front of the garage. Louis noticed four or five more large tied trash bags next to the boxes of metal.

Despite a feeling that it might break at any minute, Louis’s heart quickened. He tried to brace himself, composing what he might say to Harry. He actually had no idea what that might be. It was enough, maybe, to see Harry one last time.

Louis rang the doorbell and shifted his feet back and forth. He warmed his hands by blowing on his palms. A minute passed that felt like an eternity. Finally, he heard the door unlock and the doorknob twist. The door opened to Anne’s tall frame.

“Hi, Louis,” Anne said, opening the door wider.

“Hi,” Louis said. He waited, but no one else came to the door. “I'm just wondering if Harry’s here.”

“Oh,” Anne said. “Well, come in then.”

Louis entered the foyer and saw that most of the metal sculptures had been taken down, lying in rows along the walls. Seeing them in the process of being dismantled actually made him feel nauseous.

“Harry’s at Liam’s,” Anne said over her shoulder. “He’s spending the night there.”

“But…” Louis couldn't comprehend Harry’s mind. Never mind the championship game, or the dance. If Harry wasn't going to see Louis again, wouldn't he at least say good-bye? Isn't that what Louis would do? Why would Harry... not do that? 

“Do you have Liam’s number?” Anne asked. “You could call him.”

“Sure, I’ll jot it down,” Louis said. He took out his phone and entered Liam’s name and phone number from Anne. Hesitating, Louis stammered, “Will you— uh— be leaving soon?” 

“In a day or two,” Anne said. “When we’re done packing.”

Louis looked down, not knowing what to say. Harry was on the brink of leaving, but hadn’t even bothered to say good-bye. Instead, he dropped off a blank box for Louis, and went to stay with Liam. It was not like him. Was it? Did Louis really know Harry?

Yes, he did. Louis believed he knew Harry, his lovely, intelligent, stubborn, creative boy. Harry was someone who didn't trust easily, but had decided to trust Louis. Giving Louis his box had been like giving a part of himself, completely and purely.

Louis believed he knew Harry. And he wanted Harry to have a proper good-bye. No one was going to abandon Harry again. Harry’s love would not go unacknowledged, or unrequited. He should not go away lonely, or scared, or unsure. Louis’s love was bigger than someone simply loving him back; it would connect them, deeply and forever, to give Harry a map of stars that would always point to _home_.

In the scale of the cosmos, perhaps Harry and Louis were nothing, only atoms doomed to recycle one form of life into another.

But in this life, at this moment, they were each other’s everything, and their world was wondrous with possibility, each dimension of love leading to the discovery of another. Louis wanted Harry to know about all these dimensions of love, even if it's not with him. He wanted Harry to know that such love could exist. Harry wasn’t air. He was _something_ _great_.

_King of night vision. King of insight._

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

Louis opened his car door and got in. He sat in the frosty air, in Harry’s driveway, among the boxes of rusty scrap metal, and frozen rain, and the immensity of the indigo night. He thought about what he wanted to say. Finally, he tapped Liam’s phone number to call him.

“Hello?” a male voice answered.

“Hi, this is Louis Tomlinson,” Louis said. He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if Harry’s there?”

“Oh!” Louis heard a noise muffling the phone, and then some shuffling and crackling. “This is Liam. Just a sec, Louis.”

Louis waited patiently, tapping his knee. He heard the phone being covered, and soft voices in the background. The voices rose and sank like waves. After a pause, he heard the phone clear, and Liam got back on.

“Louis, I talked to Harry.” Liam said. Louis could sense his hesitation. “He doesn't… he thinks it's best not to talk. He wants to know if you got… a metal box? He said you would know.”

“Liam,” Louis asked, “can I please say a few words to him? It's important. It wouldn't take long.” Louis took a deep breath. “And tell him, yes, I got the box.”

This time, Louis waited longer and heard more talking and pauses in the background. The phone became more silent and muffled. Louis turned on the car engine and started the heater. Then he shrank his hands into his sleeves, and tucked them under his thighs to keep warm. His legs bounced up and down slightly.

“Louis?”

“Yeah,” Louis hurried to grab his phone. “I'm here.”

“I'm sorry, Louis,” Liam said, with a note of embarrassment. “Harry said no.”

Louis let this sink in. “Did he say why?”

“No,” Liam said. “He wouldn't say. He’s… a bit upset, actually. Distraught, even. It's probably not a great idea to see him right now.”

“Liam, I don't mean to be disrespectful,” Louis said. “I’m a nice person. Usually. It's just— you know he’s leaving.”

“Yeah, I know,” Liam said. “Quite broken up about it. Harry’s a good friend of mine. I'm going to miss him a lot.”

“I can't let him leave without seeing him one more time, Liam. We never said our goodbyes.” Louis swallowed. He calmed himself down and tried to control the shaking in his voice. He didn't know how much Harry had told Liam about their relationship. “Can I come by? Please.”

Liam covered the phone again. After another long pause, Louis heard a breath on the line, an exhalation.

“Hey, Little Bear,” Harry said. His voice was low and steady, both tender and sassy. In the midst of Louis's heart breaking, Harry was still teasing him.

“H,” Louis answered. He waited silently, unable, suddenly, to say anything.

Harry said, “I'm sorry I missed your game. Heard it was a huge success.”

“If you come to school Monday, you're going to see my ugly face everywhere,” Louis answered. “It’ll be _unbearable_. People chanting my name. Cupcakes with me on it. Balloons. Louis Tomlinson monogrammed pencil sets.”

“Gross,” Harry said. “A big head is not a good look for you.”

Louis laughed. He knew what they were both thinking, that Harry wouldn't be there on Monday. He could hear Harry chuckling on the other end of the line.

After a moment, Louis asked tentatively, “Are you okay, love?”

He heard a soft inhalation, and a purr of breath. All this time that Louis loved hearing Harry breathe, he knew he wouldn't, again. Maybe not for a long time. Maybe never again.

“Louis, I'm sorry,” Harry said, gently. “I'm so very, very sorry. For everything." 

“What for?” Louis said. “Harry, I understand. I know you want to leave without any ties, that you think it's easier this way.”

Louis looked out the car window at the dark edges of woods, beyond the garage and behind Harry’s house. It was odd for him to be here, talking to Harry, who was elsewhere. But this house didn't seem to be Harry’s, either. Not anymore. It was becoming merely a physical structure, its intimacy and familiarity dissolving into history, ticking away, like sand from a seashore, receding without notice, or a sepia dream, fading back to vapors. The house was reverting to the fairy tale gingerbread model of Louis’s imagination.

“Come on, Harry. Let's do something fun,” Louis said. “I've got an empty calendar and it's Saturday night.”

“Yeah?” Harry answered. Louis could hear a smile on his voice.

“Shall I pick you up?”

“Where would we be going?”

“It's a surprise,” Louis said. Then he added, “Hope you like it.”

“It’s not the homecoming dance, is it?” Harry asked. “My formal dress is at the dry cleaner’s and I have no time to do my nails.”

“We’re going to win the worst-dressed couple, then,” Louis said. “I'm in sweats and jeans. My hair’s a mess and I look like I haven't slept for a week. We might be equally bad-looking, for a change. So, what do you say, H? Do you want to win this thing with me or not?”

“Sure,” Harry said cheerfully. “I hadn't really thought about winning a prize. Sounds kind of exciting.”

Louis looked at Liam’s address and plugged it into Google maps.

“Fifteen minutes, then? Is that too soon?”

Louis heard Harry stop and pause. He stared at his phone, wondering whether the connection was lost, but when he checked, the signal was perfect.

“Babe?” Louis asked. He waited for Harry to answer.

“Lou,” Harry said, quietly. “Darling, are you sure?"

Louis felt the tightness in Harry's voice, the uncertainty and worry he was trying to conceal. 

Louis's mind flipped back to the seventh-grade Harry, who had happily, haplessly thrown a soccer ball into his own face. He saw the silent, proud Harry at the beginning of the school year, who had pointedly ignored Louis and fiercely protected his private life. He saw the generous Harry, who had helped Louis with his scaling project even though he disliked him. He saw the clever, seductive, ludicrously sexy Harry, who, despite his incredible looks and his intelligence, remained curious, loving, funny, and protective— who, even now, even with his heart tied in knots, was trying to spare Louis’s feelings, because he _knew_. He knew how it felt to be left behind.

Louis pictured the metal box that Harry had given him, sitting on top of his dresser at home, and thought of the dark-winged metallic angels waiting in Harry’s house. He thought of their birth from a molten rock in earth’s core, their journey to become unwanted spare parts in a junkyard, and then their transport back to the sky with Harry’s young, creative vision. They soared because of his imagination. They were born from nothing.

“I think so,” Louis said. "You, Harry? Are you sure? I won't come if you say no."

Louis waited, biding the seconds. 

Harry took in a deep breath. "Yes. Please come." 

Louis sighed in relief. “See you in fifteen, Harry. Be pretty.”

“ _Me_? _You_ make an effort for a change.”

“Bye, cutie."

“Yeah. See you soon."

Louis shut the phone off and hugged it to his chest. He let Harry’s words linger in his mind. After a bit, he put on his seatbelt and turned the car around.

 

•••

 

When Louis pulled up to Liam’s place, Harry was waiting outside in a black wool coat, his hair brushed back, without a scarf, the curls tucked behind his ears. His duffel bag rested on the ground next to him. He was wearing a buttoned white tuxedo shirt and dress shoes. Long, slim black wool pants defined his legs.

 _So he had packed for the dance._ Louis shook his head in happiness. Harry hadn't forgotten. He had run away, but was hoping for Louis to call. He knew Louis would come find him.

Louis pulled the car up next to Harry. Harry walked to the trunk, opened it, and threw his duffel bag in. Then he opened the passenger door and folded his tall frame into the front seat. He smelled like vanilla and wildflowers. _Worst dressed, my ass,_ Louis thought.

“So,” Harry said. He grinned at Louis and put his hands on his knees, loudly.

“Thought you said your dress was at the cleaner’s,” Louis said. He looked at Harry from top to bottom, and there was nothing less than perfect about him. Then he looked at Harry’s hands, and damn, if the nails weren't painted an opalescent, pale pink. _What a liar._

Harry looked especially beautiful this night. _Why did it have to be tonight?_ Louis thought, wistfully. His lashes framed his brilliant, liquid green eyes and rested on his pale skin. His lips were full and kissable and a soft, geranium pink. He smiled at Louis, pulling his seatbelt on.

Louis leaned over and smiled, his head tilted back. Harry hovered over him and gave him a small kiss, and then a longer, more ruminative touch of lips, first chaste, then slightly open, to exchange breaths. Louis closed his eyes to savor every sensation— the slight scratch of Harry’s facial hair, the scent of Harry, so close and warm, the soft and pliable muscles of Harry’s mouth teasing and comforting him. Louis kissed Harry back slowly and luxuriantly, taking his time. He felt Harry’s tongue dart into his mouth to lick his tongue, to play with him. Louis felt his skin flush from his cheeks to his chest. His head felt dark and heavy. He dropped his hands, but felt Harry grab onto his arm, propping him up, so he could kiss him longer and stronger.

Louis sighed and moaned.

“Oh, love,” he said. “You're so lovely.”

Harry kissed him again, reaching around to hold the back of Louis’s neck. Then he slipped his hand down, inside Louis’s jacket, to feel the side of Louis’s rib cage, the small of his back.

“Harry, you're making me…” Louis said.

“Hmm?”

Harry kissed the side of Louis’s jaw, licked his scruffy beard.

Louis breathed deeply. “We should go, Harry, maybe,” Louis whispered. “We’re in Liam’s driveway.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice rasped. He held Louis snugly. “Where to?”

Louis chuckled. “The dance?”

“You really want to go?”

“I really do,” Louis said. He looked over to Harry, whose chin was coquettishly tilted toward Louis. “One dance with you.”

Harry looked into Louis’s soft, wild eyes, his dreamy gaze, set off by such angular, strong cheekbones.

“Lou Bear,” Harry said. “My beautiful boyfriend.”

Louis looked down and laughed. To be surrounded by happiness was the best parting gift.

“Come on,” Louis said, starting the car engine. “Let’s dance.”

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

Louis parked the car and turned to look at Harry, who was amused. They had arrived at the school parking lot. Louis had driven to the far edge of the lot, near the woods, so they could have a moment alone to talk, if Harry wanted to.

In the distance, couples were coming from dinner and heading into the side entrance of the school, closest to the athletic fields. They were in formal wear, the girls in long, smooth dresses or short hems that showed off their bare legs, the boys with their handsome, dark suits, their hair blown dry and gelled into place, faces and nails scrubbed clean. There were other, more diverse costumes, too, displaying bold personalities and design.

Both the students’ nervousness and their pride in their beautiful appearances were evident in the quick, uneven steps they took. Their shoes and handkerchiefs matched the colors of dresses. Dark jeweled tones and pastels were scattered everywhere, like a color palette loosened onto the somber canvas of the evening. The fancy sequined and beaded handbags reflected like tiny stars. Corsages flashed white and pink on wrists and necklines.

They balanced their posture so that their carefully coiffed hair would not fall out of place. Each curl was designed to cascade exactly yet nonchalantly down one cheek. The soft ribbons that were perched casually at an angle were affixed into place with twenty or thirty hairpins. The boys followed sheepishly, awkwardly in their stiff dress shoes, their new silk ties. They were not yet adults, but their appetites were beyond those of kids. They mingled raucously, with an excess of energy.

The theme of the dance was “Not Enough Time.” It was a ‘90s theme, with a smattering of music from that decade amongst more recent dance tunes. The walkway outside the school had a large welcome sign decorated in maroon and gold glitter, and there were lights strung up around the door, with dark red roses and honeysuckle woven in. The scent of flowers was mixed with perfume, firewood, and cold vegetation, the smell of lakes and woods in the winter. The atmosphere outside the school was both relaxed and exciting.

“Your first high school dance, H,” Louis said, in the quiet of the car’s interior. “Is it?”

“First and last, most likely,” Harry answered.

“Last? Why last?”

“I don't think I would want to go to any other dance,” Harry said, “if I can't go with you.”

“Oh,” Louis started. He looked up at Harry, trying to gauge his tone, and blanching once he saw that Harry was serious. “Really?”

“Really.”

Louis took Harry’s hand in his. “Then I'm glad I got to share this with you.”

Harry stroked Louis’s hand with his thumb, running it down from wrist to knuckles along his rough skin. He looked down for a moment, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Without raising his head, Harry said, “Louis, can I tell you something?”

Louis squeezed his hand. “Anything.”

He tried to peek under the curls that had fallen over Harry’s temple. He saw the tension in Harry’s jawline, and his heart rattled.

Harry looked up. “I'm not really sure how to say it.”

He paused. Louis squeezed his hand again, and said, “Harry, you’re so important to me. Whatever you have to say, I'm listening.” Louis nodded his chin.

Harry took a breath. The words were poised on the tip of his tongue.

“Louis,” Harry said. “You're the only person I've ever fallen in love with— the _only_ person… who has loved me back, unconditionally.” He looked up at Louis.

Louis pursed his lips. “H…”

“I do love you, Lou. Deeply and truly. No one has ever moved me so much.”

He took a breath and exhaled shallowly. Louis opened his mouth to speak, but Harry put his fingers on Louis’s lips to stop him.

“I love you more than I can say,” Harry continued, “more than I can tell you. I wish I could spend more time with you… I only wish… well, anyway. Thank you."

“Harry, darling,” Louis said. “I love you, too. Very much. You know that, right? I’ll love you beyond tomorrow.”

“Beyond the stars?" Harry asked.

“Beyond imagination.”

Harry smiled. He set his jaw and began again, “I can’t find the words right now, Lou. I’m better with art.”

“I understood, Harry, when I saw your box,” Louis said. Harry met his gaze. An unspoken realization passed between them, and Harry knew, right away, that Louis got it.

“But why didn't you say good-bye?” Louis paused, looking at Harry. “Were you going to just leave?”

“I wanted to see you, Lou,” Harry said. “So much. If I could, I would stay with you forever.”

Harry paused to take a breath. He grimaced and looked down again.

“But I know I can't. Whomever I love, have _ever_ loved, always gets stuck with a trail of tears,” he said. “That' my legacy, always, a trail of unfulfilled promises and pain. My parents, old friends, teachers. It happens, over and over.” Harry swallowed thickly. “I love, then I leave. I couldn't do that to you.”

“So you just... ran?”

Harry looked up, as if Louis had hit him. “I couldn't say good-bye, Lou. Not to you.”

“But Harry,” Louis said, “did you ever think…”

Harry looked up to meet Louis’s steady, unfailing, concerned gaze. He didn't know what to expect. Everything hurt too much, was too raw.

“... that _you_ are the gift? Not the love you give to others. But _you_ , _yourself_ ,” Louis said. He curled his hand in Harry’s. “Falling in love with you has been the best experience of my life. I wouldn't change it for anything, even knowing what I know now. A minute with you, even watching you drag your heavy bag of metal pieces around, or watching you cook a ketchup omelet— it's so much better than spending time with anyone else."

Harry cocked his head. Louis was right. He would rather be with Louis, doing anything, than be alone.

 _"You_ are the gift," Louis said. " _We_ are the gift, to each other.”

 _Artists chose_. That's what Harry wanted to believe. That's how it always was; Harry commanded his circumstances by transforming the impossible or the terrifying into something beautiful, by sheer will and genius. He fought against the laws of reality. He enforced his walls.

Art was easy. Art asked for a purity of sacrifice that was easy to comprehend. Art was masterful and difficult, and intemperate and dispassionate. It was an entire universe onto itself, and Harry was only a speck in it. Harry knew how to sacrifice to art.

But he was at a loss for love. Louis had come like a storm, disarming him and breaking his walls down. Louis had generously shared the fullest love and the greatest happiness, and therefore caused the most acute kind of pain in parting.

Harry had spent the previous day in agony, packing things up and crying. He couldn’t see any good option. He couldn't find the beauty. What was even the point of beauty, when he felt like this? Too many tears had already flowed. His eyes were raw. 

It was all tenderness, and gratitude, and hurt. Everything was hurling toward a cliff.

 _So he chose_. Harry had asked Anne to drive him to Louis’s, to give a part of himself away. It wasn't just any part, but the part that he had meticulously crafted to keep himself safe. And Louis knew. With his empathy, Louis instantly knew to keep Harry safe.

And here he was, still going through it with Harry, reassuring and comforting him. Louis took him through this love unapologetically, with all its complexity, with its pleasures and sadnesses.

Louis brought Harry’s hand into both of his. “To love and to be in love is rewarding enough. Isn't it? You can't control things that are beyond your control, Harry. You can't blame yourself.”

Harry glanced at him. “No?”

“No,” Louis said. “Absolutely not.”

Harry bit his lip. Louis looked at him from his lowered face, his eyes the dark blue of infinite, nocturnal oceans.

 _You can be brave_ , they said. _The personal can be heroic. Look up. Have courage_.

“I thought I would hurt you,” Harry said, in a small voice. 

“No, sweetheart,” Louis said. “Nothing’s going to hurt us. Not unless we let it.” He lifted Harry’s hand and kissed it.

Harry looked steadfastly at Louis. He took a few breaths, and then said, “We’re free.”

His expression opened. His eyes glimmered while his dimple deepened.

“We _are_ free,” Louis said. “We choose. We love. It's ours, and ours alone.”

Harry blinked. Moist tears were caught in his lashes. A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips.

“I love you,” Harry said.

“Me too,” Louis said. “Love you so much.”

They met in the middle. They tilted their heads; their lips connected passionately and surely. Louis’s hand cupped Harry’s jaw tenderly. They breathed each other in, exchanging atoms and molecules that would circulate in their bodies and become part of each other— Harry/Louis and Louis/Harry.

When they parted, Harry said, “Let’s go dancing.”

“Of course,” Louis said. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's go dancing! 
> 
> Only a few more chapters, my loves. Hope you are enjoying the story so far. I am glad you're here.


	25. Chapter 25

In our fight against the end  
Making love we are immortal  
We are the last two left on earth  
And I was lost for words  
In your arms  
Attempting to make sense of  
My aching heart  
If I could just be everything  
And everyone to you

Not enough time for all  
That I want for you  
Not enough time for every kiss  
Not enough time for all my love  
Not enough time for every touch

Not enough time for all  
That I want for you  
Not enough time for every kiss  
And every touch and all the nights  
I wanna be inside you

— INXS, “Not Enough Time”

 

Harry took Louis’s hand and led him onto the dance floor. Louis put his arms around Harry’s waist and leaned his cheek against Harry’s, his profile slotted in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry could smell Louis’s fresh shampoo, as well as the hint of adrenaline and salt-flecked energy still lingering about him. He could feel Louis’s heart through his wool shirt, and his delicate, feline curves. He warmed to Louis’s touch.

Some of the other students glanced at them curiously, especially the ones who hadn't realized that the captain of the soccer team was in love with another guy. They made space for Louis and Harry. The music filled the room. It seemed to pulsate through the air, the thumping bass, the driving percussion, the melody that sailed above, the romantic, husky male voice.

Louis closed his eyes. He was probably never going to have another dance like this, in precisely this serendipitous way, with someone whom he loved so protectively and ardently, and who loved him back just as fiercely, in a public setting, surrounded by his closest friends and peers. Not until his marriage, anyway. He held Harry with an appreciation for his body and his mind, his youth and his maturity, his beauty inside and out.

Harry brushed his lips against Louis's hair. He placed his arms around Louis’s upper back. Harry could feel the lean, ropey muscles there, the sharp shoulder blades, the tightness around Louis’s upper arms. His legs rested against Louis’s legs. Their bodies traded heat and static, which traveled through their clothes in waves. The music aroused them. It wasn't enough to feel Louis through his clothes. Suddenly Harry wanted nothing more than to devour Louis, to see and lick and touch every square centimeter of his skin.

The song ended. Harry rested his hand stiffly against Louis’s shoulder, his head bowed and lips beaded with sweat.

“Harry?”

Louis looked up at him. Harry could see a thin rim of blue around Louis’s dilated pupils. Louis’s lips were full and pink, slightly open.

Harry bent down and kissed Louis hard, bumping their teeth. His tongue entered Louis’s mouth, roughly, probed and fucked him there on the dance floor. Louis tilted his head back and gave in to Harry.

When they parted, Harry said huskily, “Let’s go.”

“Are we leaving?”

“Yeah. Come on,” Harry said. He pulled Louis's hand, dragging him off the dance floor. Harry’s grip was tight. Louis’s pulse quickened.

The music had stopped, and the head of the student social committee, Tracy McGuire, got up on the stage. The students quieted as she made her first announcement.

“Thank you for coming, everyone!” Tracy said. “Are you guys having a good time?” Scattered cheers went up around the room.

Harry and Louis walked toward the table where they had left their coats and found it in the darkness. The stage lights cast a rosy, neon glow on everything, the table was strewn with half-empty cups of punch, plates of uneaten crackers and cheese. Coats lay on chairs, piled on top of each other. They dug through a few layers and found theirs.

Harry was still holding Louis’s hand, not letting it go.

“The first prize is for best dressed couple. It goes to Chad Wellington and Mel Kurosawa!” The crowd applauded as the couple went up to get their prize.

Harry gripped Louis’s wrist and pulled him toward the exit. Louis looked back at the stage, curious.

“Aren't we going to see if we win a prize?” Louis asked, pulling back against Harry’s grip. “Last year I won for best booty.”

“You're going to win best booty tonight,” Harry said, “if I have a say.”

The cacophony of the amplified speakers and the students applauding, cheering, and laughing contrasted with the feral arousal in Harry’s demeanor, and the rapid, pounding response in Louis’s veins. Louis’s skin itched with anticipation. He flushed up to his hairline. Harry’s fingers moved to tickle the inside of Louis’s palm.

Louis laughed nervously. “Jesus, control yourself.”

“Louis,” Harry leaned in, close to Louis’s ear, “I really can't. There's not enough time, for everything I want with you.” Harry leaned closer and softly licked the skin behind Louis’s ear, just once. No one saw him in the darkness.

“So, finally,” Tracy was saying, “the homecoming king and queen. The voting’s been enthusiastic this year. Thank you, guys! We had a few very competitive choices!”

“Shit,” Louis whispered. “Alright, Harry.” He looked down quickly, embarrassed, as he felt an unmistakable stir below his waist.

“It's an unusual… well, let's just say this hasn't happened before,” Tracy said, her voice steady and happy. “Instead of a king and queen, the winners this year both happen to be the same sex.”

Harry and Louis left through the doors, their dark, slim frames like shadows slipping through the penumbra of the hallways. Their classmates didn't see them. Everyone was focused on the stage.

“Please show some love to our new homecoming queens,” Tracy announced, “Alexa Harrington and Gloria Brown!”

There was enthusiastic cheering from the crowd, whooping and yelling, as Alexa and Gloria got onstage together to be crowned and sashed. They stood in the front of the stage and gave each other a chaste kiss on the lips. Alexa’s whitish blond hair hung in wispy strands, straight past her shoulders, in contrast to Gloria’s dark, knotty dreadlocks and beads. They blew kisses out to their classmates. Then they hugged each other, and Alexa began to tear up. Gloria put her arm around her girlfriend and held her tighter. Tracy came in to congratulate them as the crowd roared its support.

Harry and Louis heard none of it. They were holding hands, running down the corridor. Their footsteps pounded down the hard floors, their hearts thudding.

As soon as they were outside, Harry pushed Louis against the school’s brick wall, leaning his body against Louis, and kissed him fiercely. All of his love and happiness, his excitement and sadness, were bound up with a searing, young, sexual need. His chest pressed against Louis’s, the skin alert to every change. As soon as Louis felt it, he started kissing Harry back even harder. He wanted to overwhelm, to drown Harry with excess love. He put his hand behind Harry’s neck to pull him closer. He moved hungrily against Harry, pushing his hip against Harry’s thigh. His groin pounded its rhythm against Harry, who moved his thigh to slot it between Louis’s legs.

Harry glared at Louis with dark eyes, took his hand, and began walking toward the car.

“Where should we go?” Louis spoke up.

“Wherever we can be alone,” Harry said, glancing back. “Ideas?”

Louis considered. “Well, it’ll probably be game night at our house.”

“Hmm.” Harry furrowed his brows, and then chuckled.

“It's bad form,” Louis said.

“To?”

“Play Trivial Pursuit with a huge boner,” Louis said.

“Aww,” Harry snickered. “Lou Bear, thanks for calling me huge.”

“You prick!” Louis laughed. “I wasn't talking about you!”

“Let’s put that bad boy to use, anyway,” Harry said. He pulled Louis toward himself, leaned in and mouthed Louis’s jaw, softly, finishing with a kiss. “There's a first time for everything. Let's do it all.”

“What? You're crazy,” Louis said.

Harry was smiling devilishly, his dimples deep and strong, his eyes sparkling and wicked. Louis was in heaven. He couldn't wait.

“Crazy? Me? Come on, Lou,” Harry winked at Louis. “If you don't want to get naked with me, I respect your— um— _restraint_? I guess. But as of right now, Emporium Styles is open for business.” He gestured expansively at himself.

“Shut up, Styles,” Louis said. “Get in the car. Put your money where your mouth is. You'll get what's coming to you.”

Louis unlocked the door and got in. The windows fogged almost immediately, which made both of them laugh even harder. Their heat and breaths made tiny clouds in the air, orbiting around their twin stars.

“No control!” Louis exclaimed. “This fucking car…”

“It's horny, Lou Bear,” Harry said. “Can you blame it? It feels us. It needs release.”

They smiled at each other, and cracked their windows down to let out the steam.

“Let’s go to my house,” Harry said. “Mum might be out. But even if she isn't, she's an artist.”

“That doesn't even make any sense,” Louis said. “What does that have to do with anything? _I approve of your having sex,”_ Louis mimicked Anne, _“because I like Picasso_.”

“Actually, Lou, that _does_ make sense,” Harry ribbed him. Harry composed himself and continued, “It means she knows. She's not blind, Louis. She knew as soon as she saw you. Artist’s sixth sense. She could see how we felt about each other from a block away. And if she didn't know when she met you, she knew as soon as I brought the box to your house, yesterday.”

“Oh,” Louis started, embarrassed not to have known this fact when he came to Harry’s house earlier. “She's smart, like you.”

“She’s been in love, more than once,” Harry said. He looked out of his window. “Her heart has been broken. She can recognize it when she sees it.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“To your house, then?”

“Yeah.”

Louis turned the car around and drove down the driveway, one last time with Harry. When he merged into the road, he felt Harry’s hand on his thigh, felt it creep along until it cupped his groin, felt it climb up the zipper to unbutton his jeans. Louis shifted so that his jeans were more exposed and accessible. With his hands. Harry unzipped Louis, and Louis lifted himself to scoot his jeans down.

“Hey,” Louis said, “disturbing the driver.”

“Mm,” Harry said.

His hand reached into Louis’s underwear and touched the curly hairs there, stroked along the soft skin of Louis’s cock, which wasn't staying soft much longer. Harry heard Louis’s gasp as he put his palm against his cock and pressed it slowly up and down against his pubic bone, and then gently bring it out of the underwear.

“Lou Bear,” Harry said.

“Yeah, Harry?”

“I'm going to suck your cock, if that’s okay.”

“That's… more than okay,” Louis said. He opened his legs and tilted his pelvis up slightly, enjoying the sensation of being aroused while driving. He felt Harry’s hand play with his cock, pulling it a few times, then wrapping his large hands around it, warming his skin.

“Babe,” Louis grunted.

Louis saw Harry’s head of curls descend to his groin and felt his cock being enveloped in the soft, warm, wet enclosure of Harry’s mouth. It felt like nothing he’d ever felt before, like a thousand nerves shooting off, bathed in a warm light. Harry’s tongue began to move up and down his shaft, kittenish licks at first, and then muscular thrusts that surrounded the rapidly filling prick. Harry brought his hand to the base of Louis's prick and slowly began to stroke it, with a light pressure. Louis felt as if he were riding on a wet, stimulating cloud. The more Harry worked him, the more he felt like leaning down in the seat and pushing into Harry’s mouth. His hips jerked as precome leaked through. His perineum contracted. He felt his insides stutter and jump.

Harry sucked at his tip and licked up the precome.

“You taste good,” Harry murmured. “My Louis.”

“Fuck,” Louis said. His hips quaked as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He could feel his cock straining hard and straight into Harry’s mouth. When he looked down, all he could see was the back of Harry’s head bobbing up and down on his dick. Something about that made Louis so aroused, he began leaking more. Harry’s tongue was lapping him up and his lips sucking with a steady, compelling pressure.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis said. “Amazing.”

“Don't come, Louis,” Harry said. “Enjoy it but don't come. Save it for later.”

“Agh,” Louis said. “Fuck you.”

He could feel Harry smile with his mouth around his dick. _Bastard_. He was making Louis hang, waiting for release. How did he know to do that? It didn't matter, because Louis was straining to control himself, which was what Harry wanted. Harry sped up the sucking and licking, gently, rhythmically, lusciously.

Then Louis felt it. A hand pushed between his legs and worked up his thighs. The palm worked itself behind his ass and began to stroke his cheeks through his jeans, the finger supple, long, and dexterous, as Harry continued to gently suck and lick him.

“Harry,” Louis said, “it’s really hard. I'm …”

“Don't come,” Harry said. “Hold back, Louis.”

Louis groaned. He clenched his teeth and concentrated on driving. Harry mouthed him relentlessly, pulling on Louis’s skin with the hollowed vacuum of his cheeks, swirling his tongue steadily. He pulled Louis’s cock with his long, thin fingers near the top, so that mouth and hand were an indistinguishable pleasure machine. Louis breathed harder, faster.

“I'm…” Louis gasped. His ass jerked forward. He couldn't.

Harry stopped all motion and pulled off. His palm rested over Louis’s tip. He withdrew his other hand from Louis's ass.

“Feel good?” Harry teased, looking at Louis.

Louis sucked in a breath, feeling deprived from the lack of contact. He nodded awkwardly, dumbly, and swallowed thickly. He contracted and watched his cock twitch, and he saw that Harry saw it too, the cock pleading, missing its stimulation.

“I want it,” Louis exhaled.

“Want?”

“I want it all,” Louis said. “Can't wait, Harry. I want it all, with you. Want it now.”

They arrived at Harry’s driveway. Louis parked the car, then leaned in to kiss Harry’s mouth, to taste his own precome on Harry’s tongue. It tasted dirty and tangy, horny and wet and wonderful.

Louis tucked himself back down and zipped up, and then they walked up to the front door.

The _left_  one. That was the light that was out. Anne had turned on the working light.

Harry quietly turned the lock. The lights inside were all off. The house was quiet.

“Just metal scraps and ghosts,” Harry whispered to Louis. Louis stared at him and shook his head. It had seemed so long ago since he first heard these words.

They took off their shoes and went up the stairs, Harry first, pulling Louis behind him. Louis was never more certain of anything than he was of transferring his kinetic energy into potential energy, by following Harry up the stairs. Harry’s hand was large, dry, and warm; it held Louis’s and made him feel safe. Louis marveled that he got to hold this beautiful hand in this lifetime, if only for a short moment.

  
Not enough time for all  
That I want for you  
Not enough time for every kiss  
And every touch and all the nights  
I wanna be inside you

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

Louis walked to the center of Harry’s room and stopped. As soon as the bedroom door was closed and locked, Harry, smiling like a lunatic, inched himself closer and closer, until he had Louis backed against one wall, his heels touching the edge. Then Harry’s body drifted forward of its own accord, as if pulled by a magnet. Louis felt trapped and embraced at the same time, caged in.

Harry leaned toward Louis’s face. His breath ghosted over Louis's lips until Louis trembled. Louis’s skin itched to make contact.

Harry’s right hand came up and parted Louis’s lips. He pushed one finger in, and Louis, surprised, opened his mouth. The finger traced along the inner border of Louis's upper lip like a compass along a route. It traveled around Louis's mouth slowly and carefully, taking in every soft ridge and dip. Then Louis realized that it was the hand that had touched him in the car. He closed his mouth around it and tasted himself, tasted Harry around himself. Louis sucked on the finger, pulling it in with a muscular force, and then pushed it out with his tongue.

Abruptly, Harry pulled out his finger and opened Louis’s mouth with his tongue. He reached to the back, probing Louis so thoroughly that Louis felt naked and open. Harry’s tongue traced the shape of Louis's mouth as if to memorize it. Louis sucked on it, and felt Harry recoil, then re-engage. Louis tasted Harry’s sweetness and felt his animal ferocity.

Harry’s lips were muscular and soft. Louis felt as if he were being devoured like prey.

He closed his eyes and gave in to the sensation. Harry searched out Louis’s dark and secret places with a starving man’s hunger, and Louis let him.

“Louis,” Harry murmured. “Just this one time.”

“Yeah.”

“No more, Louis. We only have one time.”

“Let’s make it count, love,” Louis answered. “I want you to remember it. To remember me.”

Harry put his hand into Louis’s hair. His lips wafted over Louis’s skin until he felt the pulses at the base, and then he licked it and attached his lips. He sucked the skin in, pulling hard enough to bruise. The intensity of the pain sent a shock that penetrated Louis’s muscle and shot to his stomach. He groaned out loud. Harry responded by biting the skin and sucking on it harder, spreading the pain to the skin nearby. The adrenaline raced through Louis's body, filling it with sparks. His body arched forward. He felt the hard muscles of Harry’s thigh.

“Never,” Harry said. “I’ll never forget you.”

“Harry,” Louis stammered. “Baby.”

The intimate word hung in the air. Harry felt as if Louis caressed him, cradled him with these two syllables.

“My one and only,” he answered.

“You probably will, though,” Louis said. “You should forget. Harry, we’re young. You shouldn't make promises like that.”

Harry stared at Louis, listening to his words. They were meant to console him.

His lips trailed down and sucked again, extracting an involuntary moan from Louis. It was intense and exhilarating. Louis’s arms held Harry by his biceps, but he knew he wasn't really stopping anything. He was holding on while Harry’s energy tore into him, like a man clinging to the frame of a house in a tornado, hanging on for life.

“Lou,” Harry growled, kissing Louis’s neck, “I will never forget you. And if I know you, you won't forget me.”

Louis trembled again. He remembered hearing this voice for the first time, the raspy, sexy accent with a rough edge. He remembered Harry saying, “Very funny, Tomlinson,” with his dry, deep disdain. How he loved this voice, the integrity behind it, the beautiful creature saying it, the animal about to tear him apart.

Louis replied in a husky voice, “No, I won’t, Harry. I'll remember you until the end.”

Harry’s hands dived under Louis’s shirts, both his sweatshirt and T-shirt. Louis shuddered with his touch as Harry slowly worked the shirt up and off. Then he unbuttoned Louis's pants and slid them down his hip, so that they hung somewhere above the knees. Harry's eyes drifted down.

“So pretty,” Harry said, looking at Louis’s cock. He palmed it lightly. “My pretty, sweet Lou.”

Louis took a deep breath, his broad, muscular chest rising and sinking. Harry sunk his head into the crook of Louis’s shoulder as he inhaled Louis’s scent, kissing him gently in the hollows of his neck. His hand stroked along Louis’s cock, as if he were holding a flower. Louis tilted his head back. All at once, he wanted Harry. He wanted to taste it all, to do it all, live it all.

Louis unbuttoned Harry’s shirt and untucked it from his pants. He could feel Harry’s erection pressing against him through the thin wool. He was rock hard. Louis unclasped his pants and pushed them down. He pushed his own ass forward, so that their cocks were touching. He felt Harry jerk back abruptly, not expecting it. Louis pushed forward and kissed Harry, letting his cock swing forward. As he kissed, he rutted his hips against Harry until he groaned softly. Their raw skin felt electric next to each other, hot and damp with desire.

“I don't know how we’re going to have sex,” Louis said. “I could come just from kissing you.”

They got completely undressed. Once they were both naked, they stood for a second to appreciate each other's bodies, the cut muscles, the soft curves above the waist, the fluff of hair in their armpits and pubic areas, their darkened nipples and inward curving belly buttons. Louis licked his lower lip.

Harry bit his mouth, too, a sheen of sweat on the upper lip, his cock twitching involuntarily. Louis touched Harry’s cock with one hand and tugged the skin lightly, which made Harry breathe in. He nudged Louis’s hand away. Every touch was unbearably sensitive.

Harry backed Louis up until they were next to the bed, and then Louis sat down on the edge, looking up at Harry’s face. Harry’s legs were spread at shoulder width, his arms at his side, his pinky splayed away from the rest of his right hand. Louis leaned forward and gently kissed the tip of Harry’s foreskin. Harry twitched just before Louis took him into his mouth.

“Oh,” Harry breathed. “Lou…”

Louis’s tongue circled Harry and sucked him in deeper. Louis’s cheekbones popped prominently against the hollow of his cheeks, the outline of Harry barely visible.

Harry grunted a cry, and put his hand on the back of Louis’s head. He contracted his hips and propelled his hip forward. Louis’s tongue was on on the underside of the prick, stroking it up and down. Louis brought his hand up to circle Harry at the base, jerking him firmly and quickly. They had found the right position and rhythm. Harry cried out, squirting precome into Louis’s mouth. The warmth built at the base of his groin. He pushed in and out as Louis worked him over with his hand. His groans were muted and helpless. Harry’s knees felt weak; he strained to keep standing.

Harry leaked into Louis’s mouth, about to come. Then, with a groan, he abruptly pulled out. His hand touched the side of Louis's wet, shiny mouth, the full and swollen lips. Louis looked up at him through his long, fanned lashes, his eyes like sapphires. With a touch on Louis’s shoulder, Harry tipped him into bed.

Harry got in next to him, pressing his entire body against Louis. Their warm bodies felt good in the cool, dark sheets. Louis inhaled the scent of Harry that surrounded him in the bed. He could smell Harry’s stubbornness, his joy and peacefulness and loneliness, his hair and sleepy eyes and long, thin limbs spread out in this bed, night after night, touching himself, getting off, maybe thinking about Louis.

Louis inhaled deeply to absorb every trace of his Harry, the sweetest soul in the universe.

Harry’s hand wandered to Louis's chest. He brushed against its smooth expanse. He felt Louis’s erratic breathing as his chest rose and fell, and the rapid, strong heartbeats hammering through the ribs. Harry rested his palm against Louis’s nipple, massaging it with until it turned pebbly and hard.

“Please, Harry,” Louis said.

“Yeah, Lou?” Harry said.

“Can you,” Louis whispered, “play with it. Put my nipple in your mouth. I want to see what that feels like.”

Harry took the nipple between his lips and kissed it. He used the flat side of his tongue and licked and groomed the nipple until Louis arched his back, pushing his ass out. Louis began making small, high-pitched, fevered moans. Harry cupped Louis’s ass in both his hands. Harry pressed his erection against Louis, and he could feel Louis's muscles stiffen underneath him.

“Mine,” Harry whispered.

He massaged Louis’s ass, squeezing the muscles. He licked first the left nipple, then the right. He concentrated on circling the nipple with his tongue until Louis’s breathing came fast and shallow, his moans becoming loud and erratic.

“You belong to me,” Harry said. “Lou.”

“Yeah,” Louis groaned, helpless. “Yours. Yours.”

He spread his thighs so that Harry’s hand could slip in between his cheeks. Louis could feel Harry’s long fingers cup his balls, then wander further. They rested over Louis’s entrance. Harry pushed gently, and Louis breathed in sharply. No one had ever touched him there before. Louis pushed back against Harry’s hand and felt a tingle shoot through to his cock.

“How should we do this?” Harry said.

“Do you still have the lube?” Louis asked. “And the condoms?”

“They’re not packed yet,” Harry said. The slight hesitation in his voice gave him away.

“Harry,” Louis said, “you— were hoping.” Louis gazed at him fondly as the realization sank in.

“Lou,” Harry said. He kissed Louis tenderly, on his lips. “I want you so much. I meant what I said. I want my first time to be with you.” Harry pushed his erection toward Louis and ground into his skin.

“Fuck,” Louis said. “Why did we wait so long?”

Harry reached across Louis to get the lube and condom from his nightstand. He poured a small amount into his right hand and warmed it into his fingers. His left hand rested on Louis’s back, stroking it softly.

“Not sure,” Harry said, “how to do this.”

“Come on, love,” Louis took Harry’s hand and put it near his entrance. “It’ll be alright.”

“You sure?” Harry hesitated. “I’ve never—”

Louis turned around. “Harry,” he said, “have you ever… fingered yourself?”

Harry looked down. “When I got the lube,” he said. “I did try it. On myself.”

“And?” Louis asked, curious. “Did you like it?”

“Loved,” Harry answered, shyly. “I got off. Thought about you.”

“You fingered yourself and had an orgasm thinking about me?” Louis asked. He looked at Harry’s embarrassed face. Harry met his gaze, green eyes dark and liquid.

“I think about you and I can't help myself,” Harry said. “It's all I can do not to shoot off now. I'm so hard for you, Louis. I want to feel you around me.”

Louis took Harry’s lubed hand and put it in near his entrance. Watching Harry, Louis opened his legs, and then took Harry’s index finger and slowly pushed it in himself. When he had reached past the first knuckle, Louis gasped, and contracted, squeezing on the finger.

“Okay?” Harry asked, softly.

“Good,” Louis said. “I'm good, Harry.” They looked at each other, and then Louis bore down, pushing the finger all the way in. “Move around,” he said. “It feels fine.”

Harry curved his finger and felt the contours inside. He found a rounded shape just behind Louis’s balls. When he made the slightest contact, Louis jerked violently.

“Lou,” he said, “you okay?”

“Oh fuck,” Louis said. “You touched a… I don't know. It was really intense.”

Harry touched it again, and Louis moaned, ground his hips down as if to stimulate himself more. Harry took out his finger and inserted two, as Louis sucked his breath in. Harry moved both fingers, seeking the spot that had made Louis react before. Louis ground himself down. His eyes were closed and his head tilted to the side, and he was grunting out soft, obscene moans.

Harry’s cock was a deep red, ramrod hard and leaking at the tip. He touched himself with his other hand, pushed his erection to one side. He moved his fingers in and out, and kissed Louis softly on his body.

Louis took his hand out, and then put three of Harry’s fingers together and put them back in. Harry worked them in slowly and gently. Louis’s face grimaced for a second. Then he settled and begin moving to Harry’s fingers. They found a rhythm together. Harry saw Louis bite his lip hard as he muttered soft curses and groans. Louis finally relaxed. Harry could feel his muscles loosening, the friction becoming slippery. He found the rounded spot again, stroked it in a circular motion, and watched Louis nearly jump off the bed.

“Fuck!” Louis grunted. “Fuck, fuck. No, actually, Harry. It's time. Get in.”

Harry took his fingers out and grabbed for a condom. He bit the wrapper open, and the small, translucent ring slipped out. Louis wrapped his hand around the head of his own cock and jerked it frantically, smearing his precome everywhere.

Louis looked back at Harry. “I’m so ready, love. Hurry.”

Harry rolled the condom on, his cock feeling the uncomfortable constriction. He poured lube on and smeared it all over, but he could see that Louis was still wet from being fingered, with red marks where Harry’s hand had been.

He slotted himself behind Louis and parted his cheeks to nudge at Louis’s entrance. He felt trapped on his side, and couldn't find a comfortable position. Most of all, he was frantic to be inside Louis.

“Wait,” Harry said. He pulled a pillow down, and put it behind Louis’s back. Louis’s hip tilted forward.

Harry raised Louis's leg and let it rest on his shoulder. Then he nudged again, and this time he felt free, his cock entering smoothly. He gave a firm push and felt Louis completely around himself.

Louis whimpered. With his hip, he ground down on Harry’s cock. Harry pushed in again, going further. The friction was so fucking good, even through the condom. He felt Louis wrap around him like a glove. Soon, they were working together. The bed rocked back and forth, the springs squeaking out their rhythm, punctuated by their breaths and their animal calls.

“So warm,” Harry said, “Tight and warm.”

“Harry,” Louis breathed. “You're a— you feel huge. You keep hitting this spot that— agh— fucking hell!”

“Fuck,” Harry thrust harder. “Lou, you feel— fucking— amazing…”

“You're a star,” Louis said. “St— star.”

Harry’s hair hung in a haze about his face as he pushed. Louis’s face was turned obliquely, his mouth open, now letting out a stream of soft, high-pitched moans. His hand twisted in the sheets. Harry leaned down and licked his nipple, and then sucked it in, biting it softly.

“Oh,” Louis gasped. “God. Oh my God.”

With a gasp, Louis squirted come straight toward his chest, splattering Harry’s chin. Harry watched Louis’s spasm in ecstasy, heard him plead.

With one more thrust, Harry felt himself spilling over the edge, shooting into the condom and into Louis. He reached over and grabbed Louis’s hand to tell him, silently, how good it was, how grateful he was to be here. Louis met his eyes, squeezed his hand and brought their clasped hands to his chest. He put their hands directly over his heart.

Harry kept pumping through the last, forceful contractions. He felt a tear sting his eyes, roll down one cheek, and drop onto Louis’s body.

When he looked back at Louis, he could see that his eyes were damp, too. Harry shook his head lightly. He tried to smile, but his lips trembled and he looked away.

He pulled out and sank down next to Louis. Exhausted, exhilarated, happy, devastated.

Louis turned around and tipped Harry’s chin up. He lightly touched the come on Harry’s chin, and then brought his finger to Harry’s lips, where Harry kissed it. Harry could see that Louis’s blue eyes were like underwater gems, crystal clear and blurry with tears.

“Thank you, Harry,” Louis said. His eyes shone.

“No,” Harry shook his head, his eyes cast down. “No, don't say that. Louis, no. It’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” Louis said. He touched Harry’s cheek tenderly.

Harry blinked at Louis. A tear gathered at the corner of his eyes and rolled away as he closed them.

Harry whispered brokenly, “Why? Why us?”

“I love you,” Louis answered. “Forever.”

Harry took a breath and tried to speak. His throat was thick with emotion. “My Lou. Sweet, soft— you.”

“My Harry,” Louis said. He kissed Harry’s nose.

“My northern star,” Harry answered. “My one and only. I love you, so much.”

Louis hugged him tightly, sniffling into Harry’s neck. Harry’s curls became damp. Louis’s fingers dug into Harry’s back, pulling him closer, as if Louis wanted to obliterate the space between them.

“Space can't separate us, Harry,” Louis rasped. “Time won't weaken us.”

“Louis.” Harry closed his eyes, too sad to say more.

“You'll find me in the night sky, traveling millions of lightyears to find you.”

“I love you,” Harry said. He turned and kissed Louis’s neck. “Have loved you, will always love you.”

“And I,” Louis said, “give you my whole heart.”

Harry kissed Louis again. Their tears mixed in their mouths, dripping around the come that was still on Harry’s chin, around the sweat and the adrenaline and the heavy ache of their hearts. They tasted each other’s sweetness and sadness. They clung on tightly.

Harry brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed Louis’s hand, knuckle by knuckle. Louis leaned in and kissed Harry on the mouth again. There were never going to be enough to fill their lifetimes.

“Always,” Harry said. He was crying. Their eyes locked.

“You,” Louis replied.

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

The tranquil spring morning filtered through the open window. The noise of Brooklyn’s traffic and early street vendors rose from five stories below.

Above, the sky was the same bright blue as the sea. Cirrus clouds flew by. The cool spring breeze carried a fragrance of leaf buds and petals, a smell that always reminded him of high school. He could be in the forest and meadowlands, far away from the city.

His arm was flung across his face. His belly was barely covered by a single sheet, wrapped around his right foot at the bottom. He stretched and yawned, rubbed the sleep from his left eye with his right hand. His mouth felt dry. He slowly turned his head and tried to see the time on the bedside clock.

Was he supposed to be at the gallery early today? Then he remembered. The chief curator of sculpture at MOMA was coming at 10 AM, to supervise the transport of his Blue Triptych.

It was Harry’s biggest sale to date: at age 27, he was the youngest sculptor to be exhibited in MOMA’s main galleries. He had gotten the call a few months ago, and today it was happening. His work was being moved to the museum.

Two years ago, Harry had won the Ars Luteca Prize, and a residency at the Tate Modern. He had exhibited in London, and then dealers from Paris and Brussels had contacted him about representation. At the end of it all, he had decided to return to New York, where he had started. Despite his father’s connections in London, Harry felt comfortable amongst the colleagues and dealers he knew in New York. He had gallery space and representation, and he had finally settled on a loft in Red Hook that had room for both a studio and his residence.

Harry sat up in bed, relaxing in the cool, aqua spring air. Sunlight canted through the generous loft windows above. They reminded him of the Italian Renaissance.

Once, he had stayed in a sixteenth-century pensione in Pisa, Italy, with a similar halo of light, inviting one to look heavenward. That was part of the reason Harry chose this apartment. On winter days, when the sun set early and the dark ink of evening crept into the joints of the loft, he could see stars through the windows.

On those nights, he would climb the steps to the flat rooftop of the apartment building, and lie on the concrete floor, looking into the belly of the universe. He always brought a blanket to snuggle under. It reminded him of a night from long ago, another winter in another lifetime. There was never anyone up there. On clear evenings, Harry could be alone with the stars.

Sometimes he drifted off to sleep under their watch, waking later with chilled hands and feet. He dimly remembered the heat of another person, the memory of whom shone constant and delicate from directly above.

Harry stood up from his bed and went to the bathroom. His hair was growing out. It was longer at the sides than he liked, curling around the shape of his ears. He ran his hand through it to push the hair out of his eyes, and then washed his face, shaved, and brushed his teeth. Harry stripped down, tossing his clothes on the toilet seat. He ran his hand across the belly and sighed. It was time to start crunches again. Too many late nights with too little sleep; traveling sometimes made his schedule chaotic. He had just come back from a week in London. Mornings were killers. He ran the shower and got in, shampooed and washed, and then grabbed his towel and came into the bedroom to pick out some clothes.

That was another reason for the apartment. All the high windows afforded him the privacy to move around as he wished. Harry thought that eventually, he might have a partner who might share the apartment, but there was never anyone who stayed for more than a night, no one who could understand who he was. Colleagues had introduced him to a few potential dates. There were handsome men, and funny men, and nice men, but somehow they just didn't work out.

Harry exited his apartment, locked his door, and headed to the subway. As he came out of the 23rd St. station in Chelsea, he walked to Underline Coffee to get his usual caffeine fix, on his way to the gallery.

Brett was running the machines, and Angela was in the back, working on something. The narrow, bricked interior was filled with morning commuters. In between making lattes, Brett caught Harry’s eye, and gave him a nod and smile.

“H!” Brett called. “What can I get ya? The usual?”

“Actually,” Harry said, “special day today, Brett. I'm thinking a splurge.”

“Oh?” Brett placed two steaming cups on the counter and called for the customers. “What’s the occasion?”

“One of my sculptures is being sold to MOMA today,” Harry said. He smiled happily. “So… I might even buy a pastry.”

“Get out! Ange!” Brett called to the back. Angela turned around, holding a bread knife. She was slicing pieces of homemade bread for the toasts. “Harry’s just sold a sculpture to frickin’ MOMA.”

“Actually,” Harry corrected him, “it’s a series of three sculptures.”

“That's fantastic, Harry,” Angela said. She brushed crumbs off her hands, and flicked her auburn hair behind her ear. “I tell you what. If you have the time? I'll make you a spicy avocado mash. On the house.”

“What are you drinking?” Brett asked. “We got some Mt. Kenya dark roast recently. Super well-balanced. I could do a caffè macchiato with it. What do you say?”

“It sounds great, Brett,” Harry answered. “But I want to pay for it. I have the cash now.”

“Shut your mouth and sit down,” Brett grinned at Harry. “Let the real artists work, H.”

Harry laughed and walked to the bar along the side of the narrow room. He sat at one of the metal stools and scrolled through his phone. This weekend, he was supposed to go to one of his friends’ shows in a Soho gallery, and then attend a play for another friend midtown. He really just wanted to work on his new project. The metal had been delivered and was waiting for him at home.

He finished breakfast, thanked Brett and Angela, and then walked to the gallery that showed his work, Manchester 28. His friend Alexander Mkhize owned it. He had met Alex through the Tate residency, through friends at the museum.

The front doors wouldn't be open until 10 AM. Harry walked to the alley around the back and unlocked the backdoor, and went into the quiet, sterile, open space, populated with a few of his metalworks and some random New York ghosts.

He walked to the triple sculptures in the back room. He had been working on the Blue Triptych for the better part of the last five years, through several changes in apartments and several cities. Part of the time, it had been stored in his mother's house, in New Jersey.

The metal was bluish in color because of an infusion of cobalt, a special mixture that Harry had commissioned from his supplier, at great cost. The Triptych was a work born of his obsessions. It was the result of many experiments and previous attempts, but as a singular work, it was unlike anything Harry had made before. It seemed to come to him from another life. Three parallel but different works of metal, struggling to fly out from the center of earth, the last one ethereal and stretched to a delicate translucence, flying to the sky. These were difficult pieces to transport, as Harry knew. This was the reason that the museum’s curator was coming to supervise the transfer in person.

The doorbell announced the curator’s arrival. Alex’s assistant, Maureen, must have arrived and opened the gallery. Harry looked up and went to greet the curator.

“Harry.”

Christina Tompkins was a petite woman in her early forties. She had the commanding seriousness that made her appear much taller than she actually was. Her pale blond hair was cut into a short pageboy, and she wore a lavender silk suit from Chanel. A pair of glasses lay folded in her pocket.

“Christina,” Harry said, shaking her hand. “Thank you for coming— and for everything.”

“You're welcome,” Christina said. She cast her eyes to the distance, toward the Triptych. “Magnificent. It's going to be a popular exhibit. I can already tell.”

“You flatter me, Christina. I'm not so sure.”

“I think I know what I'm talking about, Harry. Trust me.” She paused and turned to Harry. “You're coming to the reception?” Part of the attraction of having Harry’s piece in the museum was… well, Harry himself. His charisma and sex appeal drew new museum goers. He was a rock star in the art world, a legacy child wilding on his own path. And he looked the part. Adult Harry was ineffably gorgeous.

“Of course,” Harry said. They walked back together to check on the Triptych.

As Christina glanced toward the wall behind Harry’s desk, something caught her eye. It wasn't the old leather notebook on the desktop, but something else beyond, resting on a shelf along the wall. She focused on the object. She saw, again, the glint of the bluish green gemstone. But there was something of a puzzle around it, a mesh constructed of metal. The piece was small, hardly bigger than the size of her hand, and placed in an inconspicuous location. Yet its construction was meticulous and intimate, and its mystery powerful. Its small size belied a monumental impact.

Christina stopped in her tracks. She turned toward Harry with a questioning look. Harry looked from her to the sculpture on the shelf, and then back to her again. His face was unreadable.

Christina walked and stood in front of the sculpture, studying it. She turned to Harry and gestured.

“What is this?” she asked.

Harry looked at the ground, and then turned and shuffled his feet. Finally he met Christina’s eyes.

“It's an early piece,” Harry answered.

“Does it have a name?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I call it _No_ _Air_. But it really has no deep meaning. It's just an experiment.”

Christina tilted an eyebrow at him. “Okay, my mystery man. Your call.” She watched him astutely, taking in his shifting gaze and the subtle, inward motion of his lips. “Tell me about the gemstone in the middle. Beryllium?”

Harry looked away. “Aquamarine,” he said. “The color of the earth and the seas.” He paused, then turned back to her, and softly added, “The color of the atmosphere. Of nothing.”

“Ahh,” Christina mused. She turned her body toward Harry. “Mind if I take a look?”

Harry crossed the room. He picked up the sculpture and gently handed it to Christina, watching her expression.

She worked out how the metallic wires seemed to suspend the gemstone, to appear as if nothing was touching it, as if it were suspended in space in the fine cross-cross of filaments. The piece was complete. Its beauty was apparent from every angle; it was a work of maturity.

“I'd be interested in acquiring this,” she said, “as part of our collection. It’s marvelous, Harry.”

Harry laughed nervously, a half laugh.

“You're kidding me,” Harry attempted to joke. “Really? Not this.”

Christina studied Harry, his young, handsome, symmetrical face unable to disguise a depth of feeling. She became more intrigued.

“Harry, as a curator, I look past the surface of paintings and objects,” she said, “to find the true provenance of the things we acquire, you understand?” Harry nodded. He knew where she was leading. “Provenance is a matter of origins. This piece… as unusual and original as it is, obviously it means something else to you. If you don't mind my asking, why?”

Harry walked away, leaving her to hold the sculpture.

“No reason,” Harry said in a high-pitched voice. “It doesn't mean anything. It's just not really a complete piece. It's missing a component. It wouldn't be right to display it.” He walked back and held out his hand, and Christina gave him the sculpture back.

Harry looked at the aquamarine stone in the middle of the sculpture and blinked.

_So far away._

“It means something only to me, and to no one else,” Harry said. “It's not for the public, Christina. I hope you understand.” He placed the sculpture back on the shelf and pivoted his heels. “Anyway, the Triptych.”

They discussed the piece, and then watched as the moving crew arrived and meticulously packed it away. A foam mold had been made previously. Silk was wrapped over the sculptures, and then the foam carefully fitted. Moving took the better part of the morning. At the end, Harry shook Christina’s hand again, and saw her out the front door. They promised to meet again at the reception in two weeks, for the unveiling. He still had to take his suit to the cleaners.

Harry walked back to his desk. It was already early afternoon. He thought about walking down the street to grab a salad, but then sat down to catch his breath. He felt enervated and energized at once, a little breathless.

“Can I get you lunch, Harry?” Maureen came to him. “I can ask for something to be delivered, if you like.”

“Thanks, Mo,” Harry said. “I'm alright. Not too hungry, actually.”

“It's no trouble,” she said, “really. Alex will be here soon.”

Harry gave a small sigh and laugh. “The day couldn't be better. I'm just trying to— process it.”

She smiled at him. “You're going to be fine. You know that, right? The world is about to crack wide open. Take a breath and prepare yourself. You're going to be a star, Harry.”

She turned away and returned to her work.

Harry glanced at his desktop. It actually belonged to Alex, who rarely did his creative work at the gallery anymore. Harry had all but taken over. It was an expansive space, an L-shaped station with computer screens at right angles to each other. One could display a three-dimensional design software while the other displayed text and internet information. At the moment, the desk was relatively clutter-free.

Harry pulled his old leather notebook toward himself. It was more of a paper weight than an objet d’art at this point— he hardly ever opened it.

The book served as a thread from the past that faded moment by moment. But like Ariadne’s gift to Theseus, it was a way to both enter and exit a spell-binding maze, the enthralling adventure at the center of Harry’s life. It was the most ephemeral thing he chased, and also his grandest emptiness.

Harry turned the pages and opened to the drawing of the metallic box, with its intricate locks. He remembered the day he showed it to Louis, in the evening of their art class. He wondered whether Louis still had the box, where it still existed in the world. Maybe it lay discarded and forgotten in Louis’s boyhood bedroom, while he led a separate life elsewhere— a lost Harry Styles original. Or maybe Louis had brought it to college, and lost it between moves. It was probably the only piece that Harry made and loved that he would never see again.

He flipped through the remaining pages of sketches for other juvenile pieces, some of which had won academic prizes. Although some of them were difficult and intellectually satisfying works, none held the same meaning for him.

The tinkle of the door signaled someone’s arrival. _Probably_ _Alex_ , Harry thought. A European buyer was interested in one of Harry’s sculptures; they were supposed to meet in the early evening for a second showing.

 _Prepare_ _for_ _an_ _avalanche_ , Alex had said. The gallery was already fielding more calls daily, from museums and collectors.

Harry turned his chair ninety degrees, logged onto the computer, and began checking his email. There was a message from Des to remind him that they were having lunch in two weeks, when he came to New York. A few emails from the Tate Modern and from Harry’s alma mater followed, with announcements of new scholarships and exhibitions.

Harry heard distant footfall as the person walked through the gallery, their shoes ricocheting brightly through the bare surfaces.

On the computer was a message from Anne, reminding him to book an airline ticket to attend his cousin's wedding in northern England for July. Harry rested his chin in one hand, lazily scrolling through the messages.

“Excuse me.”

Harry heard a deep, craggy male voice. There was a familiar edge about it, a catch on the border of the consonants that reminded him of something or someone.

It wasn't Alex.

The skin on the back of Harry’s neck tingled. He froze in place. _Surely_ , _it_ _couldn't_ _be_. Without turning around, he said, as steadily as possible, “Can I help you?”

“I was wondering,” the familiar voice said, “if that sculpture’s for sale?”

Harry bit his lip. His hands gripped the edges of the desk so hard that his knuckles turned white, and he thought the wood might splinter. Slowly, he spun around.

In a long-sleeve T-shirt and olive-colored pants, with hair trimmed in a short fringe, stood someone very much resembling Louis Tomlinson. He had a full beard and horizontal lines in his forehead, but his eyes were the same piercing, glacier blue Harry remembered, his lips the same petal pink color.

“I feel proprietary toward it,” Louis said, gesturing to _No_ _Air_ , “as the aquamarine belongs to me.”

Harry swayed his head slightly. His heart had dropped into the middle of his stomach and he couldn't speak. Louis stood there casually, a faint smile on his lips. He had walked into the gallery as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” Louis said.

Harry started. “How—”

“I was passing by,” Louis said. “Thought I'd pop in.” His eyes softened. “You look good, Harry.”

Harry shook out of his tongue-tie, and forced his mouth to work. Louis was standing there like an angel, his angular cheekbones sharp and cutting, his body lithe and taut. But the most prominent quality that Harry perceived was Louis’s essence, of reassurance and goodness. It was there. Still the same.

“How long have you been in New York?” Harry asked.

Louis scratched his chin with one hand. “Second day, school visit.” Louis saw Harry’s puzzled look. “I’ll be here in the fall, starting business school at Columbia. I heard you were around, so I thought I’d try to find you.”

He stepped closer. Harry saw Louis's jaw tremble, his hands extend slightly toward Harry.

With two strides, Harry crossed the distance between them. Louis looked at him with the same overwhelming fondness Harry remembered, with the same crinkled eyes and animated smile. Louis tilted his chin up to look at him.

“Harry,” he said, softly.

“Lou,” Harry said, shaking his head. He wrapped both arms around Louis, and drew him close. Harry buried his face in Louis's hair, inhaling him. “I can't believe you.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis said, “it took me so long.”

Harry took a deep breath and moved his lips, but nothing came out. He gripped Louis tighter and closed his eyes. Without thinking, he kissed the side of Louis's head, his soft hair.

Time had passed. They were different people. They had spent a whole lifetime, nine years, without each other.

“It's okay,” Harry said, his voice breaking.

Louis sank into the embrace, his face resting on Harry’s shoulder, his arms around Harry.

“Yeah,” Louis said. “We can let our next lives off the hook, I guess.” His lips rested on Harry’s chest. Small puffs of air tickled Harry with each exhalation.

“What?” Harry mumbled into Louis’s hair. “Why?”

Louis’s fingers dug into Harry’s shirt. They traced over the memory of Harry’s silhouette, his long and lean muscles. Louis could feel Harry’s center, the immutable part of Harry that wanted to vanish, yet also yearned to be tethered to earth, to be held and loved by one person, the only person who knew him.

“You're my inspiration, Harry,” Louis quietly said. “This life is enough. I don't need any others. I've found you. That's enough for me.”

“Goddamnit, Louis.” Harry gripped Louis even tighter. All the poetry he had read in the last nine years flew out of his mind. He was at a loss for words, reduced by his overwhelming feelings. He held Louis for seconds, silent and bare.

Then all at once, from thin air, Harry experienced an amazing clarity. Relief welled up from him, as if he were orbiting.

He was with Louis. He didn't need any words. Harry was with the only person who possessed his heart, who had promised to be with him always, who had found him amongst the ghosts in the darkness.

He leaned over and kissed Louis’s cheek, where the bare skin met his beard. At the same moment, he felt Louis turn his head slightly. Their lips were close to each other, enough to share a breath.

Harry did not wait any longer. He turned and kissed Louis. He felt Louis’s lips tremble, and then kiss him back, a gentle caress. The care of that kiss broke Harry inside. Louis had been waiting for so long. It was as if time had folded and they were in high school again. They might have held hands and run down its hallway only last night, to steal a kiss against the brick walls of the high school.

Harry kissed Louis deeply and long. They tasted a thousand nights spent in the cold, longing for each other.

“Don't leave,” Harry said, “Louis. Ever.”

Louis kissed him again, to catch up for all the kisses lost to time.

“Never, my love. Never again.”

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

The smell of lavender and lemons drifted through the farmhouse windows, perfuming the Tuscan air. The floral scent was mixed with the red dust of northern Italy.

A fine theater of fragrances to wake to.

Harry’s eyelids drifted half open. The ceiling’s wooden beams were out of focus, the light casting lacy patterns on the walls. His chest rose and fell lazily.

He felt his taut abdomen and remembered the yoga class he was supposed to go to this morning. It was hard to say no to Natalie. Her family supplied all of his cream and fresh eggs; the least he could do was attend yoga class.

He untangled his naked body from the soft, white cotton sheets, stood, and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, unfurling his back muscles. Then he shuffled to the en suite and peed, washed his hands, and ran cold water on his face. Despite the comfortable, autumnal warmth of the room, the stone tiles were cold and smooth under his feet.

Harry rubbed at the laurel leaves tattooed on either side of his belly, just above his hips. In the dent below the left leaf, a jade and amber-colored bruise was fading, the teeth mark now barely visible. A line of faint markings travelled up from there, in various stages of discoloration along Harry’s waist, as if he had recently been gnawed by an untamed beast. He smiled at the memory. Harry ran his hand downward. He held his penis, gave it a stroke to test whether it still responded to touch.

It did.

The days in Tuscany were filled with simple comforts. But the nights were wild.

Harry squirted toothpaste on his brush and began brushing his teeth. Still brushing, he walked back to the bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed, tucking one foot under him. His hand reached out to caress the greatest ass cheeks on earth, their gentle, muscular slopes firm under the soft sheets, their owner sleeping with his face in the pillow, his hair tousled and covering his angular cheekbones.

Harry put barely any pressure on the skin. He wanted to savor the feel of him without his knowing, his hand lingering on the small of his back. His mind relived the muscle memory of holding the waist low and close as they kissed, and the push and pull as he thrust into him from behind, his hands gripping them on either side, barely containing them. His fingers absent-mindlessly drifted between the cheeks. He stroked down with his long, thin, ringed index finger.

Louis stirred, wriggling his ass slightly. He slowly exhaled, his voice a soft sigh.

Harry went to rinse his mouth in the bathroom, and then sat down on the bed again. Louis was breathing evenly and softly, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He was asleep. Through the sheets, Harry kissed first one ass cheek, and then the other. Then he put his mouth between them and kissed, his whiskers rough.

Harry removed the sheets and spread the cheeks. Louis seemed still to be sleepy, his face buried in the pillow. Harry kissed Louis in the skin behind his testicles, and then sucked a small square in between his lips. His facial hair scratched Louis.

Louis stirred.

Harry continued sucking and licking. Almost without effort, Louis pushed on his knees as counterbalance to raise his bottom into the air. Harry reached around and held Louis's naked cock against his pubic bone. He gave it slow pressure up and down, feeling it thicken.

“Morning,” Harry said.

He ran his hands over Louis’s cock and caressed both balls. He tugged on the sensitive skin near the tip of the cock and watched Louis shudder, arching his back. Harry knew the rhythm he would need to make Louis come. It could be done before Louis was even fully awake. Louis was completely hard now, and breathing faster.

Harry held Louis’s ass in his left hand, and then massaged with rhythmic pressure. His other hand steadily stroked Louis.

Louis was trapped between Harry’s two large hands, front and back, unable to move. His body jerked forward with every push. He turned his head sideways toward Harry; Harry could see his eyes were still closed, the eyebrows knitted, the lashes fanned along his delicate cheeks. His lips parted.

He made soft, breathy sounds. He was moving helplessly as he got more aroused. His eyes darted under the closed lids; his lips opened more as his breathing quickened, exhaling erratically. He pushed himself against Harry’s hand, grinding into it. Harry felt Louis rutting faster and harder. Only a few more tugs later, he came with a long moan, dripping over Harry’s hand.

“Love watching you come,” Harry whispered, “every time.”

Without opening his eyes, Louis replied sleepily, “Angel.”

Louis’s cock twitched as it softened. He felt his muscle contract with their familiar rhythm; he exhaled softly as he came down. Harry held him through the last shudders.

He rolled Louis over, then went to get a towel to clean them up.

When he came back, Louis’s arms were spread wide to each side. His eyes blinked a few times, focusing in space. Harry watched his belly rise and fall with each breath.

Harry wiped down the creamy pools on Louis’s body, and then kissed his clean belly.

“All better,” he said.

Louis’s lips curled with a satisfied grin.

“Happy anniversary, H,” Louis said. “Seventeen years since I first pissed you off on the soccer field.”

“Really,” Harry pursed his lips in amusement.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Louis said. “We were twelve.”

Harry leaned in. He held Louis’s cheek in one hand and kissed him on the mouth.

“I'm not that mad anymore,” Harry said.

Louis sighed and drew Harry close to him. Harry slotted himself next to Louis, and draped his arm over Louis’s curvaceous waist. He ran his hand over Louis's skin for the thousandth, the ten-thousandth, the hundred-thousandth time.

Louis’s hand drifted around Harry’s hip, the elegant and slim muscles familiar under his fingers, his indentations like a landscape he knew by heart.

“Plans for today?” Louis asked.

“Yoga, I think,” Harry said. Louis made a pinched face. Harry appreciated his expression. His hand rested on Louis’s chest. “I promised Natalie.”

“I think she’ll understand,” Louis said. “For today.”

“Hmm?” Harry queried.

“Special occasion,” Louis said. “I’ve asked Alberto to pack a picnic for us.” Alberto was Natalie’s cousin, and sometimes their chef.

Harry raised one eyebrow. “What have you got planned?”

“We’re near Pisa,” Louis said. “Would be a shame if we didn't climb a few leaning towers.”

“Are you,” Harry smiled wickedly, “Louis Tomlinson, making a sexual double entendre, you bad boy?”

Louis leaned over and stroked Harry gently down his shaft. “Could be.”

Harry leaned in and kissed Louis again. He felt Louis smile under the kiss, and then return the kiss in his teasing, gentle way, hooking his thumb around Harry’s waist to pull him closer. The kiss deepened. Harry pressed his body against Louis. It was always right, their skin contact from shoulder to hip, the way their legs wrapped around each other, their hands familiar and gentle toward one another.

Louis found his favorite spot on Harry’s waist, the spot where he had left his bites and bruises and marked him over and over. Harry leaned into him as he massaged it, still sore in a good way. The pain stirred up the familiar arousal in the pit of his abdomen.

Louis kissed Harry’s neck, and then slowly scooted down, mouthing Harry’s chest, teasing over his puffy nipples, dragging his mouth down the abdomen and the line of hair below the navel, until his lips settled around the tip of Harry’s cock. He gave two quick kisses to the foreskin, then pushed it down with his tongue and licked the crown.

Harry bucked his hips forward as Louis worked him, their rhythm now familiar and comfortable. Harry gently rocked into Louis's mouth, as Louis enveloped him completely, with just the right pressure. Louis nudged Harry’s legs apart. His beard rubbed against Harry’s thighs, the rough texture contrasting with his soft, swollen lips. Louis’s beard seemed to have released a trigger in Harry, as he bucked up to meet the skin, thrusting harder into Louis's mouth. Louis held his balls, one in each hand, and, with his fingers, traced a clockwise swirl. The swirl triggered a switch, as it always did. Harry made a series of desperate grunts toward the ceiling, then turned to face Louis. They exchanged glances. Harry’s face was contorted with the desire to let go. Louis’s eyes said, _go on, go_.

With one push, Harry moaned loudly and pulsed down Louis’s throat. Louis drank him in, feeling Harry’s muscles twitch deep in his throat, tasting Harry as he swallowed. He held Harry’s ass and pushed Harry in further, as Harry writhed, his buttocks hard, his thighs rigid, ankles digging into the bed. One hand gripped the sheets, and the other was on Louis’s shoulder, connected to him. Finally, with a deep moan, Harry stopped all motion, spent.

Louis pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

“Good?” Louis asked. His voice was raw and guttural.

“Fantastic, Lou,” Harry said, his eyes half closed. “Fucking hell. You got me tied down.” He ran his fingers softly down Louis's cheek.

“Oh?” Louis laughed. His hand met Harry’s, clasping it. “We’ll see about that.”

Harry glanced at Louis curiously, but Louis only smiled and looked away. Harry wanted to chase the question, but Louis was already sitting up, getting out of bed.

Harry stared after him in wonder, his once and future boy, his prince. He seemed to grow more beautiful every day.

After they both showered and got dressed, Louis made tea as Harry cut up fresh bread and filled a dish of olive oil for breakfast. He cut up an apple and a few figs, too, knowing Louis wouldn’t eat fresh fruit unless it was set right in front of him. They brought everything outside, and sat in the warm Tuscan morning sun, the steam curling from their cups. Harry insisted on white linen napkins and matte silverware. Dahlias basked in a shallow crystal bowl of water.

Louis heard an alert from his phone. He picked it up to check the message.

“Who is it?” Harry asked.

“Alberto. He’s coming over.”

“Now?”

“Yes, Harry,” Louis said. “Now.”

Louis smiled mischievously. Harry tilted his head and frowned, his interest piqued. It was like this from the first day— Louis bringing him surprises, one by one. Almost every surprise was pleasant, especially the time he had jumped naked out of a birthday cake. Louis’s eyes sparkled, reflecting the sun. He squinted and shaded with his hand.

“Let’s go swimming, babe,” Louis said. “It's a nice day.”

“Alright. I do enjoy a swim,” Harry said slowly, wondering what Louis was thinking. “The lake?”

“Alberto found us a swimming hole,” Louis said. “It's on a friend’s private property. A place in the hills.”

“Oh?”

“He thought it might be fun, especially today.”

Harry turned around to face Louis completely. He furrowed his brows.

“You keep saying _special_ ,” Harry stated. “What, exactly, are you talking about?”

“A sunny day in the Italian countryside,” Louis said. The sky behind him brought out the intense blue of his eyes. His hand gestured to their surroundings. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Just a bit of appreciation, really.”

Louis looked at Harry sideways and winked. As much as Harry enjoyed Louis’s surprises, he always felt an unsettled impatience. After so many years apart, Harry wanted to have all of Louis, all the time. He wanted the sinister prankster whose humor was bone dry. He wanted the reassuring partner who could calm his nerves on a bad day. He wanted the sensual beast who shared his bed, held him back from climax, fucked and fucked and fucked him until he was out of his mind with want. He wanted the person who knew how to hold him and how to love him, who could see that Harry’s essence was a distilled, real thing.

Alberto’s stern, rotund figure came around the corner of the house, holding two large baskets. He wore a cotton shirt that buttoned up nearly to the top, and long white pants.

“I think I have everything you asked for, Louis,” he said, in his northern Italian accent. “The primo, the cavatappi with cheese, the Vernaccia di San Gimignano, bottle openers, plates…”

“Thanks,” Louis hurried to say. “I’m sure it's going to be great, Alberto. Thank you very much, for everything.”

Alberto laid the baskets near their chairs.

“Ho detto a Natalie, Louis,” Alberto said. “Lei sa.”

“Oh, thanks,” Louis replied. “Harry, Natalie knows. She's excused you from yoga today.”

Harry glanced at Alberto, who gave a small nod.

“She expects you to work _twice_ as hard next time, Haribo,” Alberto said to Harry. Then he turned to them both. “Will you need some dinner later?”

“We’re fine,” Louis said. “Thank you for being so considerate, Alberto. I've taken care of it.”

Harry, tsking, gave Louis a skeptical look.

“Are we having Corn Flakes for dinner, then?” Harry asked.

“Haha,” Louis said. “Hilarious. We’re in Italy, Harry. Like you’re going to starve.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hmm. Okay.”

“‘ _Queando sei con me, questa stanza non ha pareti, ma alberi,_ ’” Alberto said. He paused and looked at Louis knowingly. “Mm? Ciao, Louis.” He turned and left them.

Harry whipped his head to look at Louis. “What does that mean?”

Louis shrugged impishly. “How should I know?” He raised his hands. “I don't speak Italian.”

They cleaned up and loaded the car for the day, packed swim trunks and towels, set the baskets in the back seat, and then set off.

Louis drove. The sun was beginning to blaze down, the air above the road hazy, rust-colored.

Louis pulled off the main road and turned into side roads that wound further up the hills, skirting farms and sparsely scattered houses. Here and there, stands of cypress trees stood like sentinels, dividing the landscape and shielding the wind. The fields were golden, the shades of green varying from chartreuse to dark ivy, contrasting with the bright blue skies. A few clouds chased each other high in the stratosphere.

Every once in awhile, Louis would steal a glance toward Harry, but his face returned to its placid and innocent look as soon as Harry turned toward him. Harry’s fingers tapped his thighs with excess nervous energy. He shifted his left leg up and down. His curiosity barely contained, Harry shuffled his legs with annoyance.

Louis stifled a giggle.

“Almost there,” Louis said.

“Can you please give me a clue?” Harry blurted. “Lou, just one clue.”

“ _What_ ,” Louis protested, “are you talking about?”

“Asshole.” Harry gave him a death glare and turned back toward the road. Louis had to cover his mouth with a laugh.

Finally, they pulled up to a gate blocking the road with a large padlock. Louis got out of the car and used a key to open the lock, then drove through and had Harry relock the gate. They wound uphill through a narrow, serpentine, unpaved path, the shadows of trees and clouds racing above them, reminding Harry of his old house with the basement studio.

It was where Louis first told him, “You're not going to disappear. Not if I can help it.”

Louis kept his word. He had found Harry and pulled him back to his heart, wrapped him in it, warmed him by it. The feeling of their young selves was so strong with Harry that it knotted inside his chest. He felt like two people, teenage-Harry and adult-Harry, sharing one body. Harry inhaled sharply. He wrenched his head toward Louis, wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

Louis watched him with a loving gaze, his face a mirror of happiness.

Harry’s eyes asked, _Louis, can you feel it?_

Louis’s eyes answered, _I feel it, babe._ His mouth curled into a smile.

Harry’s hand darted out to touch Louis’s. He turned his head back sharply toward the road. What was happening with him? He was feeling— too much.

He was supposed to be on vacation. It was _supposed_ to be relaxing.

Louis pulled off, seemingly at a random spot in the road, and parked the car. When Harry looked closer, he saw a small opening between groves of trees, with a dirt path in between.

“Up for an adventure?” Louis asked.

“Of course.” Harry nodded.

Louis grinned and opened the door. He got the baskets out of the trunk, along with the bag of swimming gear and then locked the car doors.

After a considerable hike, they arrived at an enclosed lagoon, opening to the wider lake on one end, shaded by tall trees and enclosed on three sides. A rope swing hung from a thick tree trunk. The emerald color of the lagoon sparkled with sunlight. Other than the rustle of leaves, they were completely alone.

“Wow,” Harry said.

“You like it?” Louis said. He set down the baskets and spread blankets on the ground. He then stripped to nakedness, peeling off one item at a time.

“Fantastic,” Harry said, looking all around. “Really.”

“It’s picnic time,” Louis said. “Come on, H.”

He had Harry strip down too, and then they were kissing each other, tongues entwining, flirting. They lay on the blanket, their bodies loose, golden and comfortable, young and muscular and humid with desire. After a few minutes, Louis took out shot glasses and filled them with Sambuca. He lay down and put a few of them on his body.

“Aperitif?” he asked, craning his head up at Harry.

Harry looked him up and down. Louis made a nice picture.

Harry replied, “Cheers, Alberto!”

Harry took out a few olives and dotted them on Louis’s body. He mouthed an olive over Louis’s chest, and licked a stripe toward his nipple. Even before he mouthed the nipple, he could see it harden and stand on end, a bead of liqueur mixed with sweat. Louis ran his hand through Harry’s hair and pulled, just enough to shoot a pang down into his groin and command attention. Harry took Louis’s nipple into his mouth and softly bit it, then licked and bit again. He could feel Louis quiver, disturbing the other shot glasses on his body.

Harry drank a shot. He felt the bittersweetness of the liqueur run down his throat, the expected warmth traveling through his chest to his stomach. A drop spilled onto Louis's chest. Harry licked it up.

“It's a nice surprise.” His husky voice dropped into Louis’s torso. "I like it, Lou."

“I'm glad," Louis said. "Beautiful boy."

Harry took the next shot and poured it around Louis's mouth, as much into his mouth as spilling around it. Louis’s tongue darted out, licking the liquid and then sucking Harry’s fingers, then Harry’s tongue. Harry took Louis's hands and pinned them above him, so he was stretched and immobilized. Louis loved being pinned.

From their first kiss in the bathroom, Harry knew that Louis loved it when he backed him against a wall, or trapped him so he was still, this man who was so full of energy, helplessly enthralled. Harry licked his lips, his mouth, his chin, sucking on his skin as he held his hands in a tight grip. Their kiss intensified as Louis responded to Harry’s holding him down. He made a soft, high-pitched whine and rutted forward. Harry pushed his hips down.

“Behave,” Harry said. “Not yet. Be good.”

Harry then took an olive with his teeth and fed it to Louis, the salt of the olive mixing with the sweet warmth of the liqueur.

Instinctually, Louis flexed his hip up again to meet Harry. He opened his mouth to accept a hot, raw kiss. Harry’s tongue thrust deeply into Louis's mouth, and he pushed his body against Louis’s, making him want more. Louis was ramrod stiff, leaking.

“Lube’s in the bag, darling,” he whispered. "Next to the towels."

Harry found the bottle of lube and wet his hands with them. His knee parted Louis’s legs, and his fingers found Louis open and willing. A thumb circled Louis’s rim, and then went in, stretching him in circles, in and out. Harry’s large hand held Louis in place so that he couldn’t move, his legs splaying open helplessly.

“Harry,” Louis croaked. “I want. Please.”

Harry turned Louis so that he was on his side. He glanced at Louis wickedly. He sucked on the base of Louis’s neck until he winced in pain, and then palmed Louis’s balls and cock in one move, covering them with his large right hand.

“Wait, my darling,” Harry said. “Be patient.”

He nudged Louis’s thighs open, and then lay down, his face next to them. Louis closed his eyes to give in to the sensations, feeling only peace and warmth, trusting Harry.

Louis felt Harry’s delicate facial hair tickle him first, then his lips on the balls, gently sucking one in, the flat of his tongue pampering it, and then letting go. The gentle massage made Louis relax and open his legs wider. That was when he felt Harry move his face closer, and plant a broad, teasing lick over his hole. Harry’s hand was on his leg, holding it open. Louis involuntarily raised his hands above his head, helpless with desire. He gave a series of high-pitched, breathy exhalations as Harry licked him more, firmer. Louis drew his hips away, only to have Harry hold his legs and push him closer, unable to escape.

“Ahh, God,” Louis gasped. “Harry. Ahh!”

Harry shoved his face deeper in, his mouth on Louis’s hole, his tongue thrusting in and swirling. One hand rested on Louis’s swollen cock, holding it gently against his belly. No matter how Louis squirmed, he couldn't chase the friction. Harry denied it to him.

Louis’s precome streaked across his abdomen. His ass was wet with Harry, who was all over him, deep in him, enthralling him. 

He felt Harry’s velvet lips on him, and then his finger tracing the rim. Louis wanted to push himself down, but Harry controlled everything.

Then, with wetness all around, Harry’s lubed finger slipped in. Louis felt the electric tease of it, and broke from Harry’s grip, grinding himself down. Harry’s large hand cupped and grasped his ass, the curvature and softness a perfect fit. He added one finger, then another. Louis responded. They chased each other with their push and pull, the control and the escape.

Wordlessly, Louis took Harry’s fingers out, and shifted his body so that Harry’s hard cock was against his ass. He turned around and tongued Harry.

“No more games,” Louis said. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

Harry looked at Louis’s wild eyes, his lashes tangled in sweat, his mouth hard and desperate. He smiled, licking the taste Louis from around his mouth. He could feel Louis disintegrating.

With one smooth motion, Harry swept the cups and debris off the blanket and into the grass. He turned Louis onto his knees and grasped his waist, just where he loved. He lined himself up, spread Louis wide apart, and entered him roughly, in one deep, forceful push.

Louis arched his back. Harry felt Louis all around him, the sensation tight and warm. Then Harry walked his hand up Louis’s body to tug the hair at the nape of his neck. The first tingle of pain made Louis pull away, but then he pushed backwards against Harry, nudging him deeper. Harry could sense the pain’s effect, and he could feel a twitch in Louis’s ass that told him he had hit the right spot.

Louis seemed to jolt with the move. He exhaled quickly, his face twisted in pleasure. He raised his head and moaned.

“Please,” he said. “Harry, go. Go.”

“Fuck you?” Harry asked, matter-of-fact. “Or set up lunch?”

Louis turned around with a furious look. He pushed back so forcefully that Harry was momentarily off balance. Louis clenched around Harry with all his might. This sensation was intense enough that it made Harry grunt, the sound ricocheting in the woods. Harry drew back almost all the way and slammed back into Louis, who jolted forward.

“Fuck your lunch!” Louis shouted. He clenched again, drawing another loud moan from Harry. “Fuck, fuck, fuck you and your patience! How long does a person have to wait?”

“Good God,” Harry said. “You're sexy when you're angry.”

“Screw you,” Louis said. He palmed his own cock, ready to jerk it to oblivion.

“Seems like you are,” Harry said. “Be nice, Lou. You’ve got a nice mouth, a nice ass. But you know what I really like about you?”

Harry put his hand over Louis’s, squeezed his cock, and then gently removed Louis’s hand. Louis groaned in protest.

“Your personality.”

Harry grasped Louis by the waist. He pulled out and slammed in again, and again. Louis shuddered, his breathing unsteady. He felt Harry filling him, but that wasn't even the most erotic thing.

It was Harry’s voice, gruff and raspy, goading him on, floating inside his ears. His voice was a key that turned a lock. It sent him wanting more, more. It was the key to control, which Louis was losing, fast.

“I'm so mad at you,” Louis whimpered. “Oh, God, Harry… I…”

“I know, darling,” Harry said. “So angry.”

“Ahh,” Louis cried. “Ahh... fuck…”

“You're funny,” Harry said roughly, “and nice. And sweet.”

Harry grasped Louis’s cock by the head and began jerking it, working it with a steady rhythm. His large hand encircled the head, his palm spreading the precome around the crown. He could feel Louis grinding into him, which made him harder, more turned on. His hips pushed in a smooth, long, muscular thrusts that sent them both breathless. Harry's hand moved smoothly and quickly as he felt Louis push into it, rutting harder and faster. 

Louis shook his head, keening and breathing in high-pitched, muted cries, building to louder groans and grunts. Succumbing to the climax, Louis juddered, his ass shaking spasmodically, contracting around Harry’s dick. Ribbons of come cascaded past Harry’s fingers, onto the blanket.

Harry’s bare skin felt these sensations acutely and directly. The sight of Louis shooting his come onto the picnic blanket pushed Harry toward an abyss. He quickened his hips and then slammed in as far as he could, his gluteal muscles tight and aching. He moaned in the back of his throat, a noise that reverberated through his body.

It was good that they were alone. Harry’a cry was loud, a mating beast. He let it all go. It echoed sharply through the woods.

Goddamn. His body uncoiled and fired. Come shot into Louis like rockets going off.

Louis clenched and drew him in. Each time he moved, Harry felt another squirt pulse out, until there couldn't possibly be more. It was his most intense orgasm in a long time, and yet there was more, and still more.

Harry pumped a few more times, jerking upward and bringing a Louis with him. Then he stilled, holding Louis by the waist.

He leaned over and kissed Louis’s sweaty back. Slowly, he pulled out, and rolled onto his back on the blanket. Louis crashed down too. Harry raised Louis's arm so he could snuggle in against his chest. The smell of semen wafted into the air, contrasting against subtle scent of flowers, lake, and trees.

“Thanks,” Harry said. He kissed Louis’s straggly chin. His faint British accent swallowed the word halfway in his chest.

Louis’s heart flew around it like a moth.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mm,” Harry concurred. “Not bad.”

Louis nudged him. They both laughed.

Their chests rose and fell together. Harry touched the come on Louis’s belly, and traced “H” with it. Louis pushed his hand away. They laughed again, and Harry bit Louis playfully on his chest. Louis played with Harry’s curls, twirling them around his fingers.

“Hungry?” Louis asked. “Alberto packed pasta salad, some meats and cheeses. There's wine too.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “Wanna cuddle. Come here.”

Harry put his arm around Louis and tucked his head into the crook of his neck. They lay on their backs, gazing up at the canopy of trees, dazzling in greens, blues, and grays as the sun filtered through. And beyond the skies, beyond the mirage of their eyes, millions of stars were soaring through zero atmosphere, painting grandly in space for no one to see, being beautiful for no reason.

 

•••

 

Harry flipped out of the surface and brushed his wet hair from his eyes. The water was cool to touch, and tasted like earth and metals. Leaves drifted by. He looked around for Louis, who was floating on his back. Louis’s face was pink with sunburn, his nose peeling. His eyes were closed.

Harry dove down with his eyes open. The water was opalescent, but here and there Harry could see broken leaves, a tiny fish, stones and moss.

The dark green waters seemed to have no boundaries at all. His arm felt the weight of water buoying him in place. Every experience he’d ever had seemed within arm’s reach in that moment, his mother and father palpable, his art and his heart one and the same.

_Ah, his heart._

Harry drank in a mouthful of water and sprayed it toward Louis. He swam closer to Louis and could smell the coconut scent of his sunscreen. They were at a Tuscan swimming hole, making believe they were in St. Tropez.

“You're turning into a blood orange,” Harry said. “Gonna feel that tomorrow.”

The sun was enormous and vermillion, setting at an angle.

“I don't care,” Louis said to the sky. “Burns are for tomorrow, aren't they? Living is for today.”

“Philosopher-Louis,” Harry said. “Soon to be bacon-Louis.”

Louis flipped to face him. His grin was wet from the hair down.

“So. Are you ready to go, Harry?”

Harry wondered whether this constituted his surprise, their lazy afternoon spent swimming. Sure, it was beautiful, and unique, and relaxing. And the sex… the sex was phenomenal. But Louis had said special. It felt kind of, well, underwhelming, to say the least. Harry didn't want to be one to complain.

“Yeah, I'm ready,” he replied.

They swam to shore and got out. After drying off, and packing everything up, they trudged back to the car, exhausted in a good way. Not only his face, but Louis’s back was bright pink and painful to look at. He was going to hurt.

Their windows were down for the ride back. Harry hooked his phone up the car speakers, and cranked it up as they sang to the rumbling sound of wind whipping along to the music.

  
_Moats and boats and waterfalls_  
_Alleyways and payphone calls_  
_I been everywhere with you (that's true)_

 _Laugh until we think we’ll die_  
_Barefoot on a summer night_  
_Never could be sweeter than with you_

  
Louis looked over at Harry. He saw Harry turn his head at the same time, their eyes meeting midway. Louis’s lips curved upward in a thin line. Harry’s hair was flying like a curtain in the wind, whipping the roof of the car. He opened his mouth like a cavern, bellowing the words.

  
_And in the streets you run afree_  
_Like it's only you and me_  
_Gees, you're something to see..._

_Home is when I’m alone with you  
Home is when I’m alone with you_

 

•••

 

Louis went into the shower first. Harry could hear little excited yelps coming from the bathroom, staccato curses and creaks. He stood outside, snuffling little laughs because Louis was impossible.

“Bitch! Ow!” Louis yelled. “Mother-loving *!#@!”

His protests flowed in and out of coherence.

“Hurts, doesn't it?” Harry shouted through the door.

The water shut off and Louis stormed out with a towel around his middle, his body bright pink from scalp to toe.

“Oh, my piglet,” Harry said. “My well-done barbecue.”

“Shut up,” Louis glowered. “I don't know if you deserve _any_ good things.”

“ _Ode to an Oinker,_ ” Harry said solemnly, “by William Shakespeare.”

Louis shoved a bottle of aloe into Harry’s hands.

“Stop mocking me,” he said. “Can you do my back, babe? Be a good boyfriend.”

“After all the insults,” Harry said haltingly. “I don't know.”

“Please,” Louis commanded.

He unveiled the towel. There was a sharp demarcation between the ivory smoothness of his bottom and the fuchsia, tortured skin just above. Harry didn't know whether to be amazed or take pity or laugh.

“Wow,” Harry said. “Shit. That is impressive. You are not one for doing things halfway.”

He took the aloe and uncapped it, squirting the lime-green gel into his palm. Louis scooted himself over to be pampered. Harry delicately applied the gel to Louis’s back while he winced.

“We’re on a schedule here, Styles,” Louis nagged softly. “Can you get a move on?”

Harry stopped in his tracks. His hand stilled.

Louis did a quarter turn, startled. His eyes were wide and guilty. He looked down quickly.

“For your shower, I mean,” Louis said. “It’ll stick to you after a while. Doesn't feel good.”

Harry cocked his head and continued staring at Louis. He knew him well enough, by now, to know he wasn't being truthful, by the telltale quirk in the corner of his mouth, the rapid blinks.

“Never mind,” Louis said, taking the aloe from Harry. “I'll do the rest. You should go get your shower done.”

“Hmm.” Harry stared at Louis. “Why?”

“Because we’re tired,” Louis said. “It's been a long day, silly.”

After a silent moment without a satisfactory answer, Harry turned to walk to the bathroom, peeling off his clothes as he went along. As he pulled off his shorts, revealing he wasn’t wearing pants underneath, he swiveled to look at Louis.

“See you in a bit, Piglet.”

Louis gazed enviously at the golden tone of Harry’s skin. Harry checked him out once more, and smirked. Louis threw the bottle of aloe at the door as Harry closed it.

From behind the door, Harry’s muffled voice shouted, “Who’s the cutest creature in the Hundred-Acre Woods!”

After Harry came out, dressed in a white T-shirt and light blue shorts, they settled down on the sofa. Louis sat with his back away from the sofa, touching as little as possible. Harry was stretched out on his back, his feet resting near Louis.

Their doorbell rang. Neither wanted to get up.

“You go,” Louis said. “I'm sunburnt.”

“Who is it?”

“I ordered some food while you were in the shower,” Louis said. “That must be them.”

Harry exhaled grudgingly, grunted, and then sat up and started to walk toward the door.

“I didn't know they delivered Corn Flakes,” Harry said in a monotone. “We could’ve just walked to the kitchen, you know.”

“Haha,” Louis replied drily. “We’re out of milk.”

Harry shook his head and walked out of the room. Louis waited.

Harry grabbed his wallet on the way, and opened the door. He expected to see a delivery person with the paper bag of Italian food that they usually got. He was not prepared for the person standing there.

Janis was wearing a black skirt, and the T-shirt with the tuxedo print. She was older, of course. Harry thought she looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place her. Something about the uniform stirred up a memory of a cold night. Under the stars.

She held an extra-large cup with the Haute and Dangerous logo, with a large straw stuck through the cap.

“Hello, Harry,” she grinned. “Long time no see!” She pointed at herself. “Janis. I used to work there.” She pointed to the cup’s logo. “You remember me?”

“Janis!” Harry leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. He was flustered and confused. “Of course. What—”

“Banana milkshake, extra-large,” she answered, handing him the cup. “Better drink it fast. It wasn't easy to find real vanilla ice cream here, and it's gonna melt soon in this heat.”

Harry realized.

Louis.

This was the surprise.

Janis said, “How have you been? I can't believe Louis actually found me, after I moved to two different cities. But I always loved that kid, so, yeah.”

“Janis,” Harry stumbled, slowly. “I am so— happy, to see you. I am. I mean— a little surprised, too. But I know you didn't come to Italy to deliver a milk shake. So…”

“Why am I here?” Janis laughed. “Yeah, there's more.”

Louis had silently appeared behind Harry at the door, watching his reaction. He leaned against the doorway. He saw that Harry’s face showed a mixture of emotions: surprise, intrigue, delight, tenderness. It was just what he had planned.

Janis reached behind her to pick up a red, insulated delivery bag.

“Natalie’s kitchen is very well-equipped,” she says, turning around. “These are pretty close to the originals.”

She pulled out a paper bag with the Haute and Dangerous logo.

“Two burgers, all around,” she said. “Chopped Brussels sprouts on the marked one,” she raised the bag a tad, “for color and texture. Some idiot asked for sprouts at a hot dog and burger place.” She handed them over.

Involuntarily, Harry heard a snippet of conversation in his head.

_Dangerous? Not haute? Why not haute?_

_‘Course you're haute, babe. You're a whole other level of charming._

“You came through, Janis!” Louis said behind him. Harry turned his head to look at Louis for the first time.

Louis stepped forward to hug her. They held each other for a long time. Janis rubbed Louis up and down on his back, as Louis winced in pain. She turned her head and whispered something to Louis, and Harry could see his nose crinkle in a smile. Louis’s mouth formed the word _Thanks_.

They finally broke apart. Janis had the softest, fondest look, and Louis was smiling from ear to ear.

Janis said, “Hold a sec. The rest is in the car. I'll be right back.”

Harry turned toward Louis. His face registered bewilderment.

“Louis, what— ”

“Fries,” Louis said.

Harry could only shake his head as they waited in silence.

Janis came up the walk with a large cardboard box in her hand, about a meter wide. Harry was baffled. No one could possibly eat this many French fries. Janis was smiling enigmatically.

She stopped in front of them. The lid was closed. She handed the box to Louis.

“I'll let you enjoy these on your own, then,” Janis said. She looked at them both. “Catch you later.”

“Janis!” Louis called as she turned.

He went to her side and whispered something, and then she turned to him, and said, “You're welcome, Louis.” She winked at him.

After her car drove away, Louis turned to Harry and said, “Harry, remember in high school when I promised you cheese fries, and you slutted yourself out for them, but you never got them.”

“Excuse me. I didn't slut myself out for fries,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Ridiculous. I slut myself out for fine ass. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever,” Louis continued. “French fries, ass. It's all behind us now, pun intended. The thing is, I felt like your whoring really didn't get properly rewarded.”

“Let’s not forget the whoring was pretty mutual,” Harry said.

“Oh, but it wasn't,” Louis rushed to say. “Not at all. I was definitely chasing you. And I am still.”

Louis swallowed. He held the cardboard box at chest height, as if he were holding something of value.

“Harry,” Louis said, “remember the song? _Galileo_? The one you told me about.”

“The Indigo Girls song?” Harry felt a nervous sensation curl in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes,” Louis answered. “ _How long 'til my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach the highest light?”_

“Yeah, I remember,” Harry said tentatively.

“You're my sun and moon, Harry,” Louis said. He raised his eyes to Harry’s. “My highest light. My days, my night. I don't need another lifetime. This one has everything I want.”

Harry blinked. His throat was thickening with feeling.

“Lou…”

“Open it,” Louis said. He nodded at the box he was holding.

Harry opened the box. In the middle of the box was an opened, velvet-covered box with a gold ring. Surrounding it was a huge array of thin-cut French fries, covered in drippy, buttercup-colored cheese sauce, spelling out the words:

**M A R R Y   M E  
H A R R Y**

When Harry figured it out, he honked out a half-cry, half-laugh.

He was at a loss for words. He looked at Louis, who was waiting with an anxious expression on his face. Harry felt the sharp pang of love hurt him in his chest. His lungs were constricted like springs. 

“You are my North Star, Louis,” Harry said quietly. “You point me home.”

“Is it a _yes_?” Louis asked breathlessly.

They gazed into each other’s eyes, their lost and lonely nights forgotten, their days spent apart folded upon themselves, part of their journey toward each other.

“It's a _yes_ ,” Harry said.

“Yes!” Louis shouted. “Yes! Yes!”

“Yes!”

Harry set the box on the ground, and pulled Louis’s face toward himself. He drew Louis close and kissed him, tasting his excitement, his joy, his wonder at being in love and receiving love, and knowing they kind of shared that, really.

The night air stirred. A warm breeze blew toward them, carrying with it the scent of lavender, rosemary, and earth. The porch light bathed them in an amber glow.

They kissed in that soft, Italian air, as light as helium, floating in outer space, gazing down at the aquamarine planet.

When they broke apart, Harry said, “I love you, Lou.”

“Mm,” Louis said. He kissed the outer edge of Harry’s lips. “I love you, my darling. So much.”

They smiled together, understanding exactly how the other felt. Their souls exchanged breaths. 

“Feels like summer,” Harry said, tasting the air.

Louis looked into his emerald eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

 

 

  
The End

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Hope it was okay.


	29. Playlist

Playlist for _Galileo_ :

 

Best of My Love.  The Emotions (The Best of the Emotions)

Blue.  Lucinda Williams (Essences)

Crazy.  Aerosmith (Get a Grip)

Dance with Me. Orleans (Dances with Me: The Best of Orleans)

The Fall.  Rhye (Woman)

Flowers in the Window.  Travis (Singles)

Free Fallin’.  John Mayer (Where the Light Is)

From the Dining Table.  Harry Styles (Harry Styles)

Galileo.  Indigo Girls (Rites of Passage)

Goodbye, Goodnight. Andra Day (Cheers to the Fall)

Happily.  One Direction (Midnight Memories, Deluxe)

Here Comes the Sun.  The Beatles (Abbey Road)

How Would You Feel.  Ed Sheeran (X)

Home.  One Direction (Perfect EP)

Issues.  Julia Michaels (Issues)

It’s Only Rock and Roll (But I Like It).  The Rolling Stones (It’s Only Rock and Roll)

Love.  Lana del Rey (Love)

May I Have This Dance? Francis and the Lights (May I Have This Dance)  

Meet Me in the Hallway.  Harry Styles (Harry Styles)

MMMBop.  Hanson (MMMBop, the Collection)

Not Enough Time.  INXS (Welcome to Wherever You Are)

Off the Wall.  Michael Jackson (Off the Wall)

Reckless Serenade. The Arctic Monkeys (Suck It and See)

She Used to Be Mine.  Sara Bareilles (What’s Inside: Songs from Waitress)

Shine.  LOLO (In Loving Memory of When I Gave a Shit)

Sign of the Times.  Harry Styles (Harry Styles)

Still Got Time.  Zayn ft. Partynextdoor (Still Got Time)

The Soul Serene.  The Villagers (Darling Arithmetic)

(They Long to Be) Close to You.  The Carpenters (Close to You)

Torn.  Natalie Imbruglia (Left of the Middle)

True Love Waits.  Radiohead (A Moon Shaped Pool)

UGH!  The 1975 (I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful)

Wait.  M83 (Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming)

When I’m Sixty-Four.  The Beatles (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band)

Wild at Heart.  Courage, Lao Ra (Wild at Heart)

Wonderwall.  Oasis ((What’s the Story) Morning Glory)

When You’re Gone.  The Cranberries (20th century masters - The Millennium Collection)

You’re My Favorite.  Gwen Stefani (This Is What the Truth Feels Like)

You Matter to Me.  Sara Bareilles, Jason Mraz (What’s INside: SOngs from Waitress)

You Shook Me All Night Long.  AC/DC (Who Made Who)

You Are Not Alone.  Michael Jackson (HIStory)

18\. One Direction (FOUR, Deluxe)

80’s Mercedes.  Maren Morris (HERO)

 

 Hear it [here. ](https://open.spotify.com/user/salad_in_the_wind/playlist/0Vripk8yQiphWwdCwxVMTf?si=BlFO0PKxSKiOtGBD5BB_FQ)

 


End file.
